, at least in places with real summers, requires a tenacious constitution and a steady supply of hard liquor (for us drinking sorts). As for a tenacious constitution, I indulge in aimless teeth-gritting, occasional swearing, and fitful stamping as rivulets of sweat run down my nose. But I grow on in spite of whatever weather throws my way. I may rip out some corner of the garden this weekend, saving it from further melting. But then again I may just retire at day’s end from my nursery work. That’s what the hard liquor is for.