Gardening: Supply

As he hauled his bags of composted manure to the truck, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the rows of rakes and shovels. He felt the familiar itch in his palms. To anyone else, it was just a pile of dirt and metal. To Arthur, it was the kit for a miracle. He started the engine, the backseat full of the quiet potential of a thousand green leaves yet to unfurl.

Next came the organic fish emulsion—a liquid fertilizer that smelled like a shipyard at low tide but turned wilted leaves into vibrant, waxy shields. Arthur ignored the scent, focusing instead on a set of copper plant markers. He wanted his garden to look like a library of living things. gardening supply

Arthur stood in the center of "The Rusty Trowel," a shop that smelled permanently of damp cedar and dried lavender. It was the kind of place where the floorboards groaned under the weight of cast-iron fire pits and stacks of terracotta pots. As he hauled his bags of composted manure