I have no picture in my mind of the garden as a whole - that I could not see - but certain aspects of certain corners linger in the memory : wind-blown , frost-bitten , white chrysanthemums beneath a window , with their brittle brown leaves and their sharp scent of November ; ripe pears lying in long grass , to be turned over by a dusty slippered foot , cautiously , lest bees still worked in the ragged , brown edged holes ; hot colored verbenas in the corner between the dining-room wall and the side porch , where we passed on our way to the pump with the half gourd tied to it as a cup by my grandmother for our childish pleasure in drinking from it.