Word: gardenful
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...thought composting your organic waste and planting greenery in your garden were enough to earn you a gold star in environmental responsibility, think again. Those sweet-smelling blooms in your backyard patch may brighten the yard, but they could actually be doing much more harm than good to the local ecosystem...
Known as invasive non-indigenous species, such garden mainstays as garlic mustard or Japanese barberry are often cultivated for their beauty and hardiness. Green-thumbed Americans spend $9 billion a year on plants, flowers and trees, but what so many avid gardeners don't know is that by introducing an unfamiliar species to their local topography, they could be triggering a domino effect of significant environmental damage. Though most of the thousands of non-indigenous plants on the market are harmless, the few varieties that cause trouble have sprouted in every corner of the U.S. landscape...
Inside her there was the soul of a poet, diverted by the rush of politics, but never denied, not even in the White House citadel. She once told Sidey how often at day's end she took her paper work with her to the arbor in the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden where fragrant ripening grapes hung heavy above her and she sat on creaky white wicker chairs. "There," she said, "I'm in a dear, old-fashioned summer home." And she often sat in twilight on the Truman Balcony to watch the Washington Monument fade from a delicate pink to gray...
...Barnum could sell tickets to see this, one of the biggest, fiercest beasts ever to roam Britain's political jungle, up close and unconfined in a north London garden. As Tony Blair's director of communications and strategy, and for years his most trusted adviser, Alastair Campbell stalked the corridors of Westminster, commanding fear and demanding respect. His influence was immense, shaping Blair's political project to reform the Labour Party and ensuring its success. He was eyewitness to crucial decisions in foreign policy and a catalyst in others, treating world leaders with the bruising directness he meted...
...Fourth of July in France is an eerie phenomenon for an American, disquieting in its silence, its indifference, its quotidian Frenchness. Absent is the cheesy but stirring spectacle: the miniature U.S. flags, the festooned Uncle Sams, the hot dogs and watermelons, the magnificent fireworks. Sitting in the Luxembourg garden (possibly the most beautiful place in the world) while reading Proust with a cheap but delicious bottle of Bordeaux, glancing up occasionally at kids kicking a soccer ball or the many menageries of pretty French girls, one wouldn’t even know the U.S. existed. Except for a group...