Where the green grass grows…

There’s a garden/gardening theme in quite a few of my books. It’s interesting considering I don’t have a garden and I’m allergic to most flowers. If I even have a bouquet in the house, I’ll be sneezing my head off in minutes.

I love gardening, though. My grandfather was a farmer. He prided himself on his roses and his vegetable/fruit patches.

My father-in-law is the son of farmers. He grew up on a farm. And my mother-in-law, may she rest in peace, loved her garden.

I think my love of the idea of having a patch of veggies and fruits to tend myself comes across in certain stories of mine: Here Comes The Son and Primrose Poison, in particular. Lalo and Motts, in their respective stories, both love working with their hands. And they have greener thumbs than mine would be.

For Lalo, gardening is a passion but also what he feels is his life’s purpose. It comes in handy during his adventure. And could even be considered to be a saving grace.

In Poisoned Primrose, Motts treats her garden like a third pet. And, quite a bit of the dramatics in her mystery start in her garden. But that’s my fault, not hers. =)

Do you garden? Is your thumb green or black? I’d love to try gardening, I’m just not sure I have a talent for it.