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I became a gardener by accident. Sixteen years ago when we built our house, my husband seemed to think that putting in windows and doors was more important than having a beautiful garden. I argued bitterly, but my husband won, and hence the last pennies of our budget went into securing the openings of our home. When we moved in, we were left with the remnants of concrete patches on the front lawn, and a few determined croton plants standing feebly within the rubble in the garden beds.

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