Old Plants Don't Really Die - They Reincarnate.

The other day my husband was touring the garden with me when I noticed that one of my plants - now more visible since the frost took most of the tender annuals - was also dead. Knowing that it was a plant that I had worked hard to acquire, he was surprised at my nonchalance at the discovery.

But I knew that plant wasn't gone beyond redemption. "I gave a piece of it to Audrey. Now I can get a division of it back from her."

That's one of the reasons for the generosity you find in most gardeners. Not only do they like to share - but they know that sharing a treasured plant is a form of insurance. If they lose a beloved plant, someone, somewhere will have it because we share. And so we can get it back.

I first realized the value of sharing my plants while reading E.A. Bowles' series of books, My Garden in Spring, My Garden in Winter, etc. Bowles gave countless instances where some very rare plant survived only because he had shared it with someone else. If his was lost, he was able to replace it thanks to his own earlier generosity. In a sense he was getting back what he had previously given. And yet the donor/recipients still have the plant they were growing before Bowles needed a replacement. And most of these plants weren't your common garden varieties. Had he been selfish, he would also have been out a very special plant.

And so would we. Many plants that survived then are in our very gardens, thanks to Bowles' generosity with his friends. It pays to share thoughfully. You aren't giving something away when you share. You still have it. And so does your friend. It's like taking out a particularly pleasant insurance policy.

When I start thinking about plants this way, I become completely awestruck by my roses - especially the red and white striped Gallica, 'Rosa Mundi'. The plant dates back to at least the 12th century. I bought it because I loved the legend accompanying it - that it was named for Henry II of France's mistress, the fair Rosamunde - poisoned by Elinor of Aquitaine in a fit of jealousy. I bought it because I happen to like oddities like striped roses. But it occurs to me now that the rose in my garden is a peace of that old, 12th century rose, reincarnated.

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