I like flowers as much as any guy. They’re easy on the eye. They smell good. And they make a decent gift in a pinch.  For me, I like a landscape chock full of flowers.  Thus when I drive, I’m often attentive to the gardens I pass.  When my granddaughters were little – and I was the chauffeur – I would always have them look for interesting sites along the way. One thing I would ask was for them to point out was “gardens” that they might see. There was never a wrong answer. A few flowers to one might be “look Popi! It’s a “garden!” Thus we would turn a simple ride into a botanic journey. 

Now my definition of “garden” and yours may differ.  Mine requires an aggregation of different flowers in an actual flower bed.  A few daffodils in a pot or a line of petunias along the driveway is nice but it doesn’t qualify – for me anyway.  I like gardens. . . . . .  

When I drive to play golf, I often take a shortcut on an assortment of north-south streets in Skokie.  For the most part, the homes along the way are nice-looking, well-maintained and landscaped.   Some may have gardens in the back yards where the owners can enjoy them.  But there are only a handful of (my definition) gardens in the front yards of those streets.  One is an uber garden which is quite beautiful.   And there are a couple wild natural gardens.  Many homes have a few flowers out in front which is still very nice.  Most offer grass and some bushes (a few wildly overgrown).  But the gardens I pass make the ride pleasant and get me in the mood to whack the elusive white pellet.  It’s only when my golf ball gets lost in a flower bed or bushes that my enthusiasm for gardens diminishes. . . . . those $%#&^X*! gardens. . . . .