As I have mentioned many times before, I grew up on a farm. (Or perhaps I haven’t mentioned it recurrently, but… now you know.) While my outdoor memories of childhood center mainly around exploration of the woods, climbing the towering pile of chopped branches in the upper clearing — as well as the trees from which those branches came –, embarking of imaginary adventures through the swamps and creeks and the old abandoned barn, and occasionally helping with the chickens, whose Rooster I was deathly afraid of, I feel as though a love for gardening has somehow grown from my upbringing in the country. So far as I recall, we…