Editor's Notes

Maybe I'd better start working in my yard if I'm going to keep writing about it. But metaphors for life abound in gardens, even untidy ones. The wild vegetable courage required to survive on my property continues to move me, especially on golden afternoons like these, when this ragtag place provides a welcome respite from the cool eternal twilight of the computer screen.

Writers, like gardeners, have many opportunities to create order out of apparent chaos. Those who delve into the past have a lot in common with me and my overgrown flowerbeds. Out of the weedy jumble of memory, an alert writer spots something worth saving. Sometimes weeding and pruning are all that's required, but often such treasure must be pulled out of the ground entirely, then placed in a more harmonious setting.

This is not as simple as it sounds. A successful transplant requires the writer to dig deeper and farther into the surrounding soil than initially anticipated. How many of those fragile, thread-like roots must be preserved? How long can any uprooted thing survive exposure to light and air? How will it survive the shock of relocation and not just live, but thrive?

A question persists, too, about the value of looking back. There are many who believe that it is pretty much a recipe for sentimentality or boredom. Why not just start fresh with something new, the way some gardeners rely on the boisterous gaiety of annuals? But the glory of any truly beautiful garden is always in the old established growth-a tree, shrub, or vine that time has given size and character. If enough of the past is present in our view, the overall effect is one of timelessness. The writers in this issue have not succumbed to time. They have transcended it.

Back to this issue's menu