Jack knew just where to find me when the sun was setting on a late August night.

There I was, out in the garden wrestling tomato bushes in their tomato cages.

“Having fun?”

I glanced up, dirty and sweaty, and I felt myself frown. “Not in the least.”

“You get too worked up over these gardens,” he said.

I stood, stretching my back and pushing a hunk of damp hair out of my eyes. “I work really hard on these gardens,” I countered. My voice came out much harsher than intended.

“I know. I’m only saying that gardening should be a pleasure, not a stressor.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, sorry that I don’t want the bushes to collapse from the storm damage.”

We’d had some hefty... Read More