Where did they come from? Was it from seeds somebody collected back up some canyon, or cuttings of a plant some grower thought, "This is a great plant. I think I should grow a few." Was is from some nursery that bought 1,000 plugs from a greenhouse in New Jersey?

I grow a few plants myself. I give some away. I trade some for other plants and even sell some. Most of my friends are growers or plant people and I visit many nurseries, some small one or two person operations and some very large operations with more people working than I can ever know, and I collect seed for many of them. So when I see a block of Mexican Plum (Prunus mexicana) or Bur Oak (Quercus macrocarpa) or some other plants, it's a thrill to know I had a hand in those plants and they will someday be in someone's yard or landscape.

When someone buys seed off the seed board Mark and I keep, then they come back to tell me those plants are growing, it's great. A lot of times I can tell them where and how that seed was collected. When I give someone I like some of my plants and know that they will appreciate them, and know the joy of Prairie Phlox (Phlox pilosa) in the spring or the sweet smell of the Rain Lily (Cooperia pedunculata) that took years to grow out, I know they, too, will see the beauty I see. It's all part of growing plants for me and the end product of the work, be it collecting seed of Hill Country Penstemon (Penstemon triflorus) and remembering the tag-team seed collecting that October day.

When taking cuttings from my Salvia greggii 'Day Glo' (one that never made it in the trade but is one of the best color forms I have), I can still see an old friend who bred the beauty. Although I haven't seen him in many a year, he lives on in my yard.

Then there's my patch of Fragrant Gaillardia (Gaillardia suavis) that spreads just a little further every year. I dig up a few pots to keep it in bounds, but I still remember the day years ago when Mark called me at work and said, "Meet me at the HEB parking lot for the hand-off at 6:00 sharp." He had dug up about 20 small clumps. I potted most up and put a few in my yard. Now, years later, I still get a laugh thinking about it. When they bloom they smell so sweet—if you have never put your nose into one you're missing a wonderful thing.

As these plants find their way to me, and I get to know them on a first name basis, and learn how to grow them and where to use them, these beings (yes, plants are beings, too!) find their way to other people who hopefully will carry on the process of learning and sharing. I know many growers and all have different reasons and philosophies about why and how they do what they do (some even make money at it, most are lucky to break even). So where was all this going.... oh yes.... where do your plants come from?

When I walk around my yard and look at those things I have planted, I think about the stories that go along with all those friends (the plants) and I'll admit I don't have any that came from this Mart or that Mart.... but I can look at my first Rough-leaf Dogwood (Cornus drummondii) that one of my favorite people (Dorothy Mattiza) gave me on my first trip of many to her ranch. She just ripped it up out of the ground by hand, held it out and said, "Plant this when you get home." Four days later I did, and now it's a beautiful small tree with two offspring in another part of the yard. Or my Rattlesnake Master (what a great name for Eryngium yuccifolium) that my good friend Peter grew. It bloomed for the first time last summer and what a thrill for me. But it's only one of so many my brother has given me.

Then there's that Verbesina lindheimeri (I have no other name for it) that Dan Hosage sent home with me one time. "Just try it," he said, and every year it only gets better. A man full of knowledge, a grand host, and always a new plant to try. As I look around how many Terry Tate plants do I see? A lot, and each with a tale of a trip we took, or time spent together walking waist deep down some spring creek, or driving 5 miles per hour behind Mother Neff, or out on dirt roads that just go on and on picking seed or getting bloody hands. I have three Texas Buckeyes (Aesculus arguta) from Terry that came from his mother tree that is deep in the Hill Country on a road he shows to very few. I still remember that day, one of great joy, when we danced under that tree in the fading sun (But that's a whole other story, my friends, and I don't think we'll go there!) No better plants man do I know nor better friend.

How about that jewel, Slender-leaf Sage (Salvia leptophylla) from Ken and Rita, two people who are out there doing the work and always willing to give time and plants to NPSOT (and for me when I need them).

And then there's Ken Mueller, who's not only been an adviser but a true friend. How many plants has he graced me with? Knowledge and stories always, and no better traveling companion will you find. His plants have added chapters to the stories as they grow in my yard.

And Mark, how many tons of seeds have we gathered and how many plants have we dug, divided out, traded and shared with each other. How many miles, how many photos? And you my friend... There is more to come...

And what about Henry down at Native Texas Nursery? You have sent me many plants to try out to get feedback on, and you let me buy so many things that were not for sale.

And Pat, it's like pulling teeth to buy plants from you, but I always get some wonderful gem that nobody's ever heard of from you in the end. And the road trips with you are information overload, but you teach me about plants and plant communities.

This list could go on and on. Plants and people, tales of adventure, excitement, discovery, trips deep into McKittrick Canyon and the death march out. Photographing Bull Muhly in the Davis Mountains, gathering its seed and growing it out, and now I have five pots in my greenhouse and all I need is some time to plant them. Oh well, I'll get around to it one of these days. After that I'll walk around the yard and see them, and in my mind I'll remember that cool sunny day, that wonderful trip, those good friends.