I’m planting in the front garden when Mason’s voice rings out from two doors down: “Free lemonade for a quarter!” Clearly, this is a deal too good to pass up. I walk down the block.

Mason and his mom are sitting on their lawn under a dogwood tree. “Hi, Amy!” his mother says. “The garden’s looking great!”

“Thanks,” I say. “Working on it makes me so thirsty though. Do you have any idea where I could get something to drink?”

Mason’s eyes grow wide. “Would you like some LEMONADE?” he asks.

“I would love some lemonade,” I tell him.

Concentrating intently, he pours me a cup and holds it out. “That’ll be one dollar.”

“You’re quite the businessman,” I say.

Mason’s mom, Jessica, and I chat a while. When I get up to leave, Mason says, “Amy, can I see your garden?” Music to my ears.

Over the past year, I’ve been packing my front garden with fun and fascinating plants, hoping to show my neighbors what’s possible here in zone 8 and perhaps inspire them to plant something new. It’s been a joy sharing my passion with passersby, but I get a particular thrill out of the kids who show an interest in plants.

Mason follows me back to the garden, and like all the neighborhood children, he’s compelled to tiptoe along the low retaining wall next to the sidewalk. “You have a lot of plants!” he exclaims. Walking up the path, he contemplates my seven-foot Arctic Summer mullein. “Whoa.”