My father is a whiz with plants. From the moment my parents first purchased our small home on the Jersey shore, he has poured a lot of love and creativity into constructing his own garden, or as I call it, the ecosystem.

The system lines the narrow perimeter of the house. Figs - yes, figs in New Jersey - berries, tomatoes, and herbs happily dance alongside the hydrangeas, dahlias, and irises, all in a plot of land the size of two economy-sized, Japanese produced automobiles. Various species of bugs and animals loom in the small yet vast garden as well. Frogs, squirrels, spiders, bees, and yes, slugs come out, especially at night, and party in nature's bounty.

My father has always wanted to protect and nurture the creatures of his kingdom. As a teenager, my not-so-green thumb would get in his way. Sometimes I would wear sandals to late night beach parties, and without fail, I would step on a slug on my way back into the house.

"Dad, can't you get rid of those slugs? They're so gross and they oozed all over my feet!" I would cry to my father. Why build a messy monstrosity with creatures looming - in your front yard - on the way into the house?

"I can't control the slugs. Why can't you just walk around them?" he would retort.

I would storm off completely frustrated. It just didn't make sense to me. I had no choice but to learn to cautiously dance around the sidewalk sidestepping the slow critters and saving my toes from a slimy mess.

My father continued to find ways to expand his ecosystem though. My cousin used to buy old rundown tenement homes in Philadelphia and spruce them up before renting them out to new tenants. One day, my cousin brought him an old-fashioned bathtub that he picked up from one of the homes.

"This is perfect for a fishpond!" my dad's eyes widened and he smiled from ear to ear.

He worked for days as he conjured up a way to turn that old bathtub into a fishpond. First, he placed the tub in the center of the front yard. He piled up bricks in a square around it, filled the space between the tub and the bricks with soil, and then he planted tomato plants in the soil. He then filled the tub with water and large outdoor goldfish, and placed large Zen-like rocks around the rim.

He invited friends, family, and all the neighbors to see the fishpond that he made, but I was mortified. To make matters even more embarrassing, he placed yellow rubber duckies to the rim, "What do you think?"

"It's great Dad," I cowered.

A few years later, my

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