I suppose it's humorous to watch me at garden centers. High on the heady aroma of flowers with a hint of dirt, I spend a lot of time lingering over the offerings, murmuring to each plant that catches my eye. "Now, where would I put you?" I often ask, checking its tag. It's unfair to invite a guest home without having proper accommodations. Mostly I have an area in mind, whether it's my shade garden or an empty spot in front of the dining room window. But there are times that I spot something that is so unusual or pretty that cost be damned, it's going home with me. I once spent several minutes conferring with three different pear trees before deciding on one and apologizing to the other candidates.

One exception to these rules is the rose. I stick my nose into each bloom on each plant (yes, I'm aware they all smell the same), and this time the rose speaks to me. "Wouldn't I just look lovely near the archway?" I head off the potential assault on my budget with a quick glance at the nametag. My one requirement for a rose is that its name means something to me. "Wild Blue Yonder" found its way in my front yard not long after my husband got his pilot's license. "Queen Elizabeth" came home with me in honor of Her Majesty's visit in 2007. Ironically, she wound up near "Lady Diana," who I believe died off for mysterious reasons later that summer. I have a dream list of names to look for, and I literally do a victory dance when I stumble across one.

The hardest time of year for me is, of course, winter. Countless hours are spent standing at my patio door daydreaming as the snow swirls outside, a steaming cup of java in one hand and the latest garden catalog in all its colorful, teasing glory in the other. By the time I whittle down my top ten list, the pages are dog-eared and marked up. I also started a garden journal last year, using a blank book and lots of Scotch tape to enter pictures and tags from my purchases. I also fill it with layout sketches of my vegetable garden, taking into account companion planting and my favorite flavors. I dabble in herb and container gardening, and no longer fear failure. That's probably the most important lesson I've learned. It helps that I'm stubborn and refuse to give up on making my landscape one to be enjoyed, and yes, maybe envied.

Now the breeze is beginning to carry the clean scent of rain rather than the bitter tang of snow, and the robins have decided that my backyard is actually a decent place to hunt worms. Local stores are finally stocking their shelves with garden supplies and dcor, which means that soon I will be haunting them in search of a good conversation and a cartful of adoptees. Tomatoes will get planted, flowers will be moved around, and I can get a decent tan. The only dilemma I have is where to begin.

Learn more about this author, Audra Hershberger.
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