Sometimes I pull into town after visiting a fancy estate and think that I should host staunch lines of boxwood. But then I turn into my driveway to find the first honeybees of the season zipping around, enjoying the feast provided by a superabundant king’s ransom of early spring flowers. Or I wake up on an April morning and look out the window at the bristling, glistening flower field spreading in front of the plant-proud cobbler shop and behold a scene that causes my heart to overflow. Maybe not everyone sees it that way. Maybe they look at my floriferous borders and see weekends bogarted by wheelbarrows. But then again, love is blind.