I’m an ambivalent gardener. This stems from my upbringing: As the only child of parents who have Miracle Gro running through their veins, I grew up observing the obvious pleasure that gardening bought my parents, along with the beautiful results. Weekends at our house were often spent in the backyard, where my parents’ tireless weeding, mulching, planting, and cutting turned our suburban acre into a verdant paradise.
On the other hand, I spent a lot of time playing alone in that backyard, breathing in the fertilizer fumes, and I may have resented — just a tiny bit — the time that my parents spent focusing on the flowerbeds when they could have been driving me to the mall.
Click here to continue reading this week’s “Faith in Vermont” column for The Addison Independent.