Learning to Love the Garden in an Empty Nest

Years ago, when my husband Howard and I were first dating, he looked around my Manhattan apartment where I’d wedged assorted shriveled plants and flaccid palms into a corner behind my bicycle. He was quiet. “Do you think you’d be better with kids than a garden?” he asked.

I laughed, but wasn’t so sure. “Of course, I love kids!” If only plants would cry for attention, I’d have a better shot at caring for them.

“In my next life,” I told him, “I’ll be a gardener.”

I did feed and water our two c...