A love story to the author’s lush Long Island garden, to his affectionate partner and to the beauty, surprise and evanescence of life.
Wachsberger (co-author: Daffodil, 2004, etc.) begins his memoir with a living snapshot: a moment in the garden with Charles, his partner, who is trimming the privet hedge; the author ruminates about how he had always dreamed of having such a companion. Wachsberger found his house (which was three centuries old, and showed it) in Orient, N.Y., in the 1980s. Living alone, he devoted himself to his garden. As he gradually improved the house and expanded the garden, he revisits his past, telling us about his parents, relatives and boyhood dreams, all of which, he writes, were romantic. But he’d never had much luck with lovers, had about given up and even considered suicide. Then he met Charles through a personal ad, and they clicked. The two became inseparable, and soon the author’s garden became “our” garden. Each brought to the task unique interests and perspectives (Charles liked more control; the author liked to see how things would work out). Their lives became rounds of acquiring plants (some quite rare), waiting for things to bloom, acquiring a puppy, going to the opera and arranging garden tours. Their lives became their Eden. The story darkens when the author developed prostate cancer; the disease had metastasized, eliminating the possibility of surgery or radiation. He tried hormone therapy and other experimental drugs, but readers will detect Wachsberger’s valedictory mood.
A writer tends the garden of his life with tears of joy.