A spate of arrests reveals Russian spies have been living undetected in the U.S., posting on Facebook—and tending to their gardens.
When all you want is get away from it all, just grab a branch, hoist yourself up, and leave your troubles below.
We preserve old buildings, why not old landscapes? Transplanted horticulturalist JESSICA FRANCIS KANE discovers a mysterious garden outside time’s realm in Greenwich Village.
New York City is a wonderland for dogs—to defecate on, and for their owners to look the other way. An argument for a more civilized scenario, where dogs aren’t encouraged to kill plants.
Now a New Yorker, our resident green essayist brings her yardwork series to the big city, even if it means breaking into private plots.
Departing the (garden) lovers’ state for one that loves its cement and money more, our scribbler of the lillies Our writer realizes the crucial difference between caring about plants and caring for them.
Our resident poet of the orange blossoms discovers the literary charms of gardening catalogs: reading for aesthetic pleasure, also for planning the future.
The botanical arts can be passed down, whispered along, or demonstrated with a spade. But who the teacher turns out to be can be a greater surprise than his secrets for growing tomatoes. Our resident gardener gets ready for the Fourth of July.
What sort of gardener looks forward to winter’s first frost? Our in-house green thumb doubts herself after seeing what an expert Virginia gardener—and her garden—looks like.
When a loved one’s houseplants are divided up, what you get isn’t a condition of your standing as a relative, but of your ability as a gardener. Our writer has a story of memory and maintenance, and the discovery of a special bond.
Gardeners love to commune with nature. Though not as much as they love to commune with ice cream and plasma screens and loud noises and personality quizzes. Our writer reports from the middle of 33 indoor acres of plants.
We bemoan the rise of the McMansion, the slash-and-burn path of the strip mall—but the real problem may be lurking in the shrubbery.