Z. and I live with our hands in the dirt. Our tiny house and tiny garden. Next year, Z. wants to plant tomatoes. They are tempermental, I tell her, and they need a lot of sun. But she insists. She has already picked out the varieties she wants -- Early Girls for late July and Big Boys for August. She plots her garden plan on graph paper with ruler and pencils. She has cut out shapes from colored paper, arranges them on her chart. Perhaps some pumpkins, Momma? she asks. Just miniature ones? And maybe some squash for early fall.

And she wants to add more flowers, for color, she says, solemnly. We could use some more color. Here, we can put some violets. And here, she points proudly, morning glories.