The first time I saw the petunia, it was sprouting from the top of a dusty pile of rubble my husband had created the fall before removing an old chimney from the inside of our 1841 farmhouse. At mid summer, its small, muted blooms of white, pink, lavender, and purple were coming on strong. I carefully dug it up and planted it in a sunny, protected area near the old house.

The obvious question was, of course, where in the world had the petunia come from. Had the seed been planted by an errant bird that dropped it in flight? Had the seeds lay dormant for years in the material extracted when the chimney debris was removed last fall? It grew quickly, rawling up an old damaged garden hose left hanging on a peg. It became a lovely plant, emitting a wonderful fragrance especially on warm humid summer evenings. Who knew petunias could climb or smell so good for that matter? Another amazing characteristic was its ability to produce different colored blooms on one plant.

Soon, I began passing seeds on to friends and neighbors. Sadly, after one particularly severe winter, they didn’t return. It was like losing a dear friend, especially because by this time, I had convinced myself that the seeds had come from some rare heirloom petunia planted years ago that had magically managed to survive until I found it.

This past May a gardening friend stopped by bringing a six-cell pack of-- would you believe--seedlings from the same vining petunias I had given her seeds from years before. My special petunias had returned home. Vines, now loaded with multi-colored petunias clamber up bamboo supports and their delightful fragrance greets all who come and go along my sidewalk.

Sharing plants with others is one of the most pleasurable aspects of gardening. Whether passing on what’s left of a multi-pack, hustling too many seedlings started over-enthusiastically back in March, or finally relinquishing a rare flower specimen, we all get a special satisfaction when we share plants. While any plant can be considered, in today’s jargon a pass-along plant, many become more desirable because of an emotional or nostalgic connection. The old-fashioned vining petunias described above have an added value for me. Who planted them and where they came from are still secrets known only to some long-ago occupant of my old farmhouse, but that only enhances the joy and appreciation these wonderful little marvels bring.

Then there’s the Mrs. D’s tulip. The old couple lived across the field for years. The property was sold and their charming old-time homestead was quickly bulldozed the autumn after they were gone. Out on a walk the following spring, I noticed a yellow dot in the scarred red landscape that had once been home to them and many plants and animals. Coming closer, I discovered a single struggling oddly-shaped tulip near where a flower garden had been. I brought it home and planted it. I now have a respectable patch of old-fashioned buttercup-yellow woodland tulips (Tulipa sylvestris) passed along unknowingly by a dear neighbor.

Some years ago, a gardening friend gave me a chrysanthemum she called a Sheffield Daisy. Odd name for a chrysanthemum. I had struggled for years in a love-hate relationship with mums. I loved their bright autumn colors but hated their inability to return reliably year after year. Then along came the Sheffield Daisy. It’s a perennial with masses of pink daisy-like flowers atop green leaves that creates a magnificent last hurrah in any garden. The most well known, Sheffield Pink, is an antique variety seldom found in nurseries and garden centers today because it is far from looking its best in early spring when most plant merchandising is at its peak. A small inconspicuous plant with no early flowers is a hard sell, and that’s why friends and fellow gardeners are the best options for finding them.

Sharing plants recalls not only particular plants but particular people and particular moments: the evergreen trees planted when children were born, a hundred plus-year-old night-blooming cereus (Epiphyllum oxypetalum) that still occasionally thrills its owners with its magnificent blooms, the delicate pink bread poppies whose seeds were bought for a quarter from an enterprising six-year-old at a makeshift flower stand, the wickedly exotic voodoo lily shared by a kind garden club friend, a sugar maple sapling pulled from a sugar bush in Vermont that now towers 70 feet tall, some native Pawpaw trees shared by a former local school superintendent, and the list goes on.

Before plants and seeds were readily available, plant sharing was absolutely necessary. Then, people devised interesting ways to bring plants into their gardens. Sometimes they just took a cutting or some seeds when no one was looking. There is an old superstition that holds that stolen plants always grow better. Plants moved from one garden to another when couples married or new gardens were established or children were born. Many early communities held to the tradition of moving during April partly because they could bring saved plants and seeds for the upcoming growing season in their new gardens. Immigrants from Europe brought familiar plants and seeds to their new homes in America.

Today, we have numerous sources for seeds and plants available at our fingertips. Still family members and friends, plant exchanges, yard sales, even Internet sites now remain popular ways to find plants. Locally, the Littlestown Area Garden Club is again holding its fall plant sale during the Good Ole Days Festival in Crouse Park, Littlestown on Saturday, August 17, from 8 am to 4 pm. Most plants come from local gardens. For sale at reasonable prices are perennials, annuals, herbs, houseplants, some shrubs and trees, and other garden-related items. Visit and take advantage of what’s there to be shared.

Today’s gardening is big business. Nevertheless, sharing, either from the giving end or the receiving end, still provides an unmatched pleasure enjoyed by many gardeners while preserving some of the best plants found anywhere.