It Comes With Age...

I am writing this from my parents' where Highflyer and I have spent the long weekend "sitting" dad while Mum got to spend a little much-needed me-time in Vienna. As usual, there were several garden-chores waiting for us. Apparently, I have inherited the "green thumb"- gene from the paternal side of the family, whereas mum does what she is told, but it is not her hobby, nor passion. When I was younger, I found the "garden talk" of my paternal grandmother, aunt and dad incredibly boring and in particularly could not understand how these women in particular (just as my maternal great-aunts) seemed slaves to their gardens, basically not able to (or claiming that this was the case anyway) leave the house overnight in summer for fear of thunderstorms that might wreak havoc in their well-kept green paradise. While I am definitely team "anarchic gardener" and won't spill tears if some plant does not survive while we are away on summer vacation, I do enjoy gardening and am thrilled when something (edible in particular) grows. Highflyer, like my mother, is happy enough when somebody else takes care of planting stuff that he can then enjoy and sticks to moving the lawn and other traditionally manly chores. Fine with me.