This recycled column, about a surprising plant performance, was one of my mother’s favorites.

I was visiting my sister in Tuscaloosa, and as we prepared to sit down for the evening meal, a next-door neighbor knocked frantically on the door. "Hurry!" she said. "The primrose is blooming." We looked at Donna standing on the porch, then at each other.

An unspoken but obvious questions hung over the table: What on earth was she talking about? Was this blooming primrose worth returning to a cold supper?

My sister's and brother-in-law's looks were edged with some concern for their friend and neighbor. But Donna's urgency prevailed. The group decision was made.

The three of us followed Donna to her house. She headed toward a row of shrubbery. In the fading light of dusk, we could just make out

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