It was a comfortable August day years ago when my mom herded my sister and me out the back door and into the garden. Working my way through knee-high weeds wasn’t the ideal summer activity for a grade-schooler like myself, but the three of us kept at it, finally stopping to lie in the grass under a shady tree to rest. After a bit, the others fell asleep and I got inspired. Why not hop back into the weed patch and see how much progress I could make before Mom woke up? My venture was successful, and I had the pleasure of surprising my mother with my labor of love. In retrospect, the surprise was on me, for I think back on that day as the one in which my interest in gardening began to grow. Today, as I pull thistles out of the raspberry patch and dig up extra …