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It was a quaint turn of the century brown shingled three story house, nestled on a quiescent street partly adumbrated by towering elm trees that lined the street on either side, forming a canopy that effectively blocked the daytime sun. This would be our first home, and the place where my most amazing gardening experience would unfold over the next fourteen years.

As spring loomed and the snow melted, I became cognizant of the character of the neighborhood we had moved into during the winter. There were no white picket fences or any other fence for that matter. Instead there was what looked like an interminable, unbounded lawn that stretched across houses from one end of the street to the other, disconnected only by very narrow concrete walkways, creating the allusion of community and conformity.

I soon discovered that lawn mowing was a shared responsibility as our neighbor to the left, started to mow his lawn, across ours and continuing through to the next five lawns. Another neighbor would take the cue and continue in a similar fashion, like an unwritten, unspoken ritualistic discernment. The lawns were immaculate, green, flat and uniform and provided the canvas upon which the giant elm trees cast their shadows upon in the afternoon sun. But there was one thing missing from this panorama. There was a notable absence of color, against the back drop of the brown, gray, black and green analogous houses, cozy and reminiscent of a primordial, unaffected place in time.

As a nature lover, I had dreamed of starting my own garden, in fact I couldn't wait. Now a sense of disconcertment began to muffle my enthusiasm. I wondered, whether there was also an unwritten rule, one that outlawed gardens. If so, it was one axiom I was about to challenge. I started with an unpretentious garden next to the front of the house and planted a variety of marigolds. As they bloomed, they were like golden buds against the brown background of the house. My neighbor, as if afraid to disrupt my flower garden or in protest of the alien growths that were threatening to invade the otherwise sterile yards, stopped mowing across our lawn. Alas! The chain had been broken and we were responsible. I felt an eerie sense of doom, and while I watched in anticipation, for others to follow my lead, it was not to be. Not even a planter emerged anywhere on the street.

The following few years, I continued to expand my garden. I brought in climbing roses, flowering shrubs, and I was introduced to the day lily

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