I am 83 years old and my love of nature began as a child. We lived in the country but not far from Toronto. We lived on a few acres with woods, small creeks and lots of gardens. My Dad was a real horticulturist, an English man, growing everything from seeds in his green house, it was a loving hobby. His beautiful gardens, full of fruit trees, vegetables, raspberries lovely old rhubarb patches and even rows of grapes in all colours. I was so lucky to be able to experience this lovely childhood. I remember the manure being delivered at the end of our driveway and my Dad wheeling his wheel barrel all Sunday afternoon to his gardens. Butterflies were plentiful and I could watch the full metamorphosis of a butterfly hanging on a branch. The small creek had some clay sides where I could collect some clay and pretend to make small bowls. My Dad’s gardens were often photographed from people driving by. Birds so plentiful, small skunks roaming around, not disturbed by anything, well maybe our English Setter dog.
My love of nature on my doorstep. How lucky was I?
What a beautiful time growing up in the 40’s and 50’s.
I could go on and on.