Leonore Hildebrandt

When I was growing up, my older sister taught us rounds, and we’d be singing in harmony. A round may continue endlessly. For example, in a three-part round, one singer will come to the end of the tune (and then begin again) just as the other two singers are completing the first and second parts, respectively. The life cycles of the species I find in my vegetable garden resemble this song form––they interlock, they vibrate with one another, they repeat. Each life carries the melody forward. And then there is me. Having now worked with the same patch of earth for over thirty years, I have come to see the garden as an entity, a character. When I make my rounds, I bring along my restless thinking, my awe. “A Gardener’s Rounds” is an ode to small lives, particularly to pollinators and the soil organisms that make all life possible. My hope is that the poem’s stanzas––which wrap around in language cycles––capture my admiration for the garden’s grand ingenuity.