As a little kid, I loved planting flowers with Mom. She taught me the whole process—dig the hole, sprinkle in a little fertilizer, set the flower in, pack the dirt around it, and then water. We repeated that ritual for years.

But somewhere along the way, my love for gardening wilted. It was much easier to just let Mom do it for me! When I moved to Beaver Dam, she handled most of my gardening. She’d practically have to drag me outside to help her—and I’d usually be holding a kid or baby, trying to use that as an excuse. Truth is, if Mom didn’t come over, the planting simply didn’t get done. Still, those years quietly taught me what worked and what didn’t.