Bill Finch
Under the Azalea Bush
Your mother and I have been talking. And we decided it was time you understood something very important about, well, you know,...
Where Spring Begins
IÂ lived high up on a mountain once where spring came slow. It came creeping north from the river first, through the divide,...
Head in the Clouds
Find a spot, if you must, for that live oak or crepe myrtle. Add a few green bushes so the neighbors won’t...
Where Winter is Robin’s Spring
If you get a chance, ask all those Michigan birds why they’re loitering in your yard and on your beaches this December. ...
The Lagniappe of November
In Birmingham and Atlanta, they’re quietly raking up the year’s gardening dreams, stuffing them into plastic bags. In the upper South, ...
The Longleaf Regeneration
A hundred years ago, it fell on Mobile and Fairhope, on Bay Minette and Citronelle, like a seventh-year gift from heaven,...
September, When Butterflies Are Free
In September, the sullen green of Gulf Coast Summer suddenly waves with purple and gold, blue and orange, wildflowers rising to meet butterflies,...
Peas Be With You
Once, we all shelled peas. It was one of the few activities that could unite this contentious confederacy that we call the...
Night in the Tropics
The days are hard enough, but Lord, the nights. The sleepless nights, when the bed feels hot and close, and...
A Twist of Daffodils
Her garden was like her proud Victorian house, overcast with the erect, old willow oaks that lined the streets of Tyler Hill,...