My desire to garden has it roots (pun intended) in my early childhood years spent with my grandmother in her rambling Southern garden. She was crippled and moved slowly, but she could still hoe, dig a hole, and give me directions to do the tasks that she couldn’t accomplish. In retrospect, I realize that, even as a child, I was a great help to her in her garden. It was just fun to me to be with this crusty old lady in her garden that had so many treasures and secret places for a child. She had a large vegetable garden and an even larger corn patch. Besides these utilitarian aspects of the garden, there were fruit trees including apple, pear, peach, plum, and pomegranite, grapes including muscadines and scuppernongs, flower beds, hedges, and assorted shrubs like tea olive, sweet shrub, forsythia, and grancy greybeard. I love the memory of getting inside an enormous fig tree early on a hot morning and eating ripe figs hot from the sun. Almost fifty years later I could draw a plan of that garden with specific plant placements. Now I have my own garden that is my place to retreat and create. I didn’t follow the creative career path that I should have and now my garden is my chance to create. I love the dirty hard work, the smell and touch of the soil, the constant reworking and daydreaming that the enterprise entails. Gardening is my religion!