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“She'd become accustomed to letting the garden grow uncontrolled since her father left. And that had suited both Harriet and the garden. They'd both been free to move about as they liked, to behave how it felt natural to behave. Harriet's decision not to prune was why the vines climbed so high along the house this summer, why the roses covered the garden walls and the blackberry brambles spread out as they did, decorating the bricks between the house and the railroad tracks with as many brilliant green leaves as menacing thorns. It was why the plum tree's fruit lay about the place all summer and its flowers bloomed brilliantly in the spring. It was why the bluebells stood in their own self-proliferating patches beneath the trees and rosebushes and wherever they pleased. Why her evergreen hedges were not neatly trimmed and why the hawthorn tree at the front towered over the gate. Her garden was filled with so much fierce beauty, she knew it would not take kindly to being clipped to the quick.” — Chelsea Iversen