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Gardening is my most favorite of hobbies and I owe that love to my maternal grandmother who insisted I learn the ways of gardening at the age of six years old. She was most comfortable when she was tending to her garden and in retrospect, I realize it was her therapeutic activity. It has since become mine. I chuckle every now and then as I recollect a childhood memory of a gardening story that went awry.

As a small child, my grandmother encouraged my interest in gardening by allowing me to prepare the soil and plant zinnias, rhubarb, onions, garlic, tomatoes, and mint. I was resistive at first because I would have rather been riding my bike or chasing my friends at the park. She was insistent on my participation and I soon learned to resolve myself to work as quickly as possible to be free to pursue my other endeavors. Often, I had to re-do my tasks because they did not meet my grandmother's expectations and she was beyond diligent about the condition of her planted rows. She would proceed to lecture me about the necessity of forming a proper garden and I would roll my eyes incessantly as I worked my small hands to form the even mounds of soil.

Within weeks, as I saw my gardening efforts come to fruition in the form of beautiful flowers, tasty rhubarb pies, and other delectable recipes and treats, I became more invested in the labor required to reap such benefits. My grandmother's reminders to water and cultivate the new seedlings became less of a requirement on her part.

My grandmother, having grown up on a farm in central Kentucky, knew all the ins and outs of farming, canning, and harvesting. I was never interested enough to absorb the details but I was confirmed recruit to the basics.

One year my grandmother decided to spend a summer teaching me how to make tasty rhubarb pies and rhubarb preserves. Ever the creative one, I decided to make a pie that combined all of the ingredients I had harvested during the summer, unbeknown to my grandmother. I begged for hours to be left alone in the kitchen during the preparation of the pie including the crust.

I followed with great accuracy the steps and measurements my grandmother had drilled into my brain to successfully produce a pie crust that was flaky and light. My pie crust was a success. I then began, out of boredom, to explore combinations of harvested items for the filling.

I cut the rhubarb into small chunks and boiled them as required adding sugar, lemon and vanilla extract, and a pinch of salt to the syrup graciously

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