By MAUREEN GILMER , Scripps Howard News Service

Over the past 30 years, I have committed every grievous error of gardening.

I have starved my plants, drowned them, hacked them to bits and killed thousands of them. Despite these losses, I don't look at it as failure because I learned so much from each and every mistake I made.

Ever since settlers turned the first clump of dirt west of the Rockies, there have been water wars. These conflicts grow even more turbulent in periods of prolonged drought. During the 20th century, water needs escalated as immigrants flooded in. Westerners have been sensitive to water consumption long before the rest of the nation woke up to the issues of conservation.

My neighbor Beverly is a legendary party host. She entertains an avian festival of finches and sparrows, with occasional pigeons crashing the festivities. Bev's tree is decked out in hanging feeders that are always popular, as she is diligent about refilling them with thistle seed and wild-bird food.

When the first flowers of Monarda didyma bloomed, I rediscovered the wonder of bees. Sure, I shared the grade-school fears of stings, yet there were bees I had never seen before on this prairie perennial also known as "bee balm." The insects ranged from tiny ones the size of a mosquito to wasplike banded beauties.

The end of summer is nigh, but autumn isn't yet in full swing. These dog days are devoted to the fruit of the rose, which is visible now that the woodlands are still green and the trees are not yet showing their colorful finale. Called rose hips, these small, round fruits contain seeds wrapped in a fleshy outer coat that is sweetly astringent and packed with vitamins.