My father was an avid gardener. On many a summer morning he rousted me out of bed well before sunup and handed me a hoe. We had more than an acre to tend, and the objective was to get as much as possible done before the sun got too high in the sky and the temperature rose above 100. The humidity in that region, while good for the skin and for growing vegetables, is oppressive, and heat exhaustion is always a possibility in summer. On several occasions my thoughts turned patricidal. But as the years have passed, I have grown to appreciate what my dad taught me, not only about growing things in the earth, but also about responsibility and the value of hard, physical work. I now derive physical and spiritual pleasure from gardening. All this galls me a little, because my dad always said it would turn out this way.
