Sweaty, bruised and grazed, we stood by the open gateway of a half-acre paddock and watched the truck taking the colt to his destiny. I don’t recall what kind of day it was, only the miserable feeling of having failed after trying our best. We didn’t know it then, but it was to be a recurring theme in the not-too-distant future.

Deprivations were never an issue for me; the security of being with my parents fulfilled my every need and I nestled into the cocoon of my existence without taking much notice of the outside world. I believed everyone’s reactions and experiences were the same as mine, so not understanding different character traits came to bite me on the bum during adolescence.

Mum had often said she was closest to God when in her garden, and as the years rolled by I understood what she meant: crafting beauty generates tender thoughts. And isn’t that what creation is all about?