CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: SERENDIPITY HAPPENS WHEN GARDENS, FRIENDSHIPS GROW

I went to visit Linda the other day, which of course means visiting her garden.

Linda is a practical gardener; everything she grows out in the neatly-tilled plot behind her house is put to use.

A few clusters of sweet William and phlox scattered around the yard and a rosebush or two are there strictly "for pretty," as she says, but the rest winds up sold or canned or dried for use later.

In addition to every variety of tomato and pepper known to man, Linda grows herbs.

She gave me the guided tour during our visit, proudly pointing out feverfew, yarrow, mugwort, chamomile, basil, oregano, calendula, several types of mint and many other varieties I can't name.

I am hopeless at identifying sprouts; during garden tours, I hold up my end of the bargain by nodding admiringly, if only to acknowledge that something that's obviously not grass is growing in the carefully-tended bed.

Linda just shakes her head at my ignorance; friends learn to accept each other's flaws, and as long as I don't weed-whack her lavender bed, she can tolerate my inability to tell lemon basil from flat-leaf parsley.

The upside is she doesn't ask me to help her weed.

I've known Linda for 11 years; when we met, I was just out of college, working at the daily paper in Flat River (now Park Hills), and she was a grownup who divided her time between making jewelry and getting her degree at the local community college. We lived across the hall from each other in some apartments over a storefront in downtown Farmington.

Since then, we've both survived the upheavals, personal and professional, that are just part of real life.

Linda still makes jewelry, in between growing herbs, and I still newspaper. The rest is subject to change.

When Linda, who is patience-impaired, starts chomping at the bit on a new project, I'm there to remind her she needs to breathe once in a while.

When I need a good, swift kick to get me in gear, Linda is more than happy to deliver it.

Sometimes too happy, but that's another column.

I'm always learning things about Linda that surprise me. She didn't strike me as the gardening type when we first met, and I've come to learn she hates The Beatles. Obviously, she's a Communist, but I still like her.

She seems surprised that I like Led Zeppelin. Go figure.

That's what makes life interesting.

Good gardens, like good friendships, are full of surprises. Linda planted what she thought were lilies of the valley in a shady corner of the yard, but instead, a beautiful blue-green hosta with lushly quilted leaves sprouts there every spring.

And instead of pole beans last year, one row sprouted with an heirloom variety called Jacob's Cattle.

They're a mottled red and white; hence the name, I guess.

At my father's house, the bare patch where we scattered wildflower seeds two years ago has finally sprouted.

First came the tall, hairy shoots that made my father suspect thistles. He immediately wanted to chop them down, but my sister and I advised patience.

And a few weeks later, serendipity happened in the form of tall white Shasta daisies.

In addition, purple phlox and Texas bluebells have sprouted, and I have a new favorite corner of the yard.

And, wonder of wonders, the peony I planted four -- maybe five -- years ago has finally bloomed. Big deep pink flowers with white centers.

In a few weeks, Linda will start supplying me with tomatoes, peppers and the occasional zucchini. This last time, she sent me home with dried chamomile flowers for tea and a promise of fresh basil and oregano in exchange for a spaghetti dinner.

It seems like a fair exchange.

Peggy O'Farrell is a copy editor for the Southeast Missourian.