My grandmother grew up on a dairy farm in Burlington Flats, NY. As a wife and widow, she lived in nearby Cooperstown, in a frame house with a generous backyard garden. My parents, siblings, and I lived with her until I was five, then visited her after we moved away. My earliest garden memories are immersive and multi-sensory, of tasting tangy chives and nasturtium leaves, smelling lilacs and mown grass, and seeing bright orange marigolds and nasturtium blossoms — an awakening to growing things, and the rewards of living with plants. Alas, I do not have my granny’s green thumb, but a deep appreciation for those who do, and their handiwork, has stayed with me ever after.