When I came to Benjamin’s for lunch, I bumped into Zuzana and Peter Schultes. They arrived yesterday evening. They were famished, too. Over lunch, Peter talked with some pride about their garden along the path that leads to their house half way down the Motovun hill. I could not but mention my new and growing passion for gardening. On our way home, I led them first to the terrace and then to the garden under it. I showed them the repaired wall under the garden, the new plastic barrels fed by the gutters bringing water from the terrace, the soil of the garden that had been turned many times over already, and the place from which I dug out the stump left by a tall fir tree felled a couple of years ago. They were quite impressed. “Well,” Peter mused quietly, “a garden this size could feed quite a few people.” Now it was my turn to swell with pride. With hardly a plant to my name, I am a wannabe gardener past compare.