true dirt

“Have we ever visited each other’s gardens? No, never. maybe each of us fears that we would be turned to a pillar of salt should we look upon the other’s work. When we run into each other in town, we smile politely, then look away.”
Those are the words of a well-known Bay Area plantswoman and purveyor of native plant seeds speaking of her neighbor gardener. I know gardeners have their differences–about lawns, pesticides, ceramic gnomes, pruning techniques, and the relative merits of petunias. And I don’t mean the differences between a gardener and the next door neighbor who hacks down a tree because the leaves make a mess, or the retired couple that thinks a half-acre of sparkley white rocks edged with scalloped brick is a garden. I mean real gardeners who simply have different garden esthetics and methodologies.
But not to want to visit a fellow gardener, not ramble on about the weather wreaking havoc on the tulips, or black spot ruining the roses, admire an outstanding specimen iris or complain about one’s dirt? Why, that’s half the reason for gardening; having someone to talk to who is just as obsessed as you are with the arcana of catalogs and quality secateurs, compost and campanulas.
I say if you can’t stand the sight of your neighbor’s dahlias–you’re no gardener. You’re probably an ecologist.