On Sunday afternoon, I arrived at Mum’s house dressed in an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts, the perfect outfit for gardening.
She’d said her knees were bothering her, so I volunteered to get her flower beds planted.
Inside the open garage were dozens of trays, bursting with chrysanthemum, zinnia and geranium seedlings. Several bags of potting soil leant against the garage wall. On the nearby shelving unit, I located gardening gloves, but the trowel wasn’t in its
