Elara offered me scissors before she offered me a seat.
"Only if your hand is comfortable," she said. "I need strips this wide."
She held up a piece of old linen. A basket beside her contained enough cloth to suggest the task had been waiting for someone less suspicious of simple invitations.
"What happens if I cut them badly?"
"We use them for smaller pots."
It was a reassuringly limited disaster. I sat at the potting table and tried the scissors with my left hand. The first cut went crooked. Elara moved a small pot toward the growing pile.
"That one will do."
The workroom opened onto the garden through a wide door. Beyond it, climbing plants covered part of the low wall beside the path. Several had outgrown their supports. Their roots had begun lifting the edges of the planting trays.
