The rose in the photograph survived Arthur’s elaborate gardening system: water anything that looked disappointed. This included a wooden bird box. Margaret laughs, then points out the small ladder he built when the rose climbed beyond the fence. He could not tell a weed from a seedling, but he always noticed when something needed support. From her hospital window, she can see a groundskeeper wheeling an empty barrow. It reminds her of Arthur transporting one tiny pot with the solemn care of a grand piano.