Therefore, on a hot sunny day of May, I was lured by the nature into helping mom in her garden. Delighted at my enthusiasm, she gave a piece of three feet by three feet land, handed me a bottle of flower food and about twenty little plants of three varieties. 

“Design it anyway you like. It is your garden.” She said, encouraging and inspiring.

I stared at the land, the plants and contemplated on what to do with them. After a while, I decided to draw a diamond shape on the land and picturing which plants went where based on the color and the height. After all was thought out, I took a first dig on the ground but stopped immediately.

“How deep should I dig the holer?” I asked mom who was working on the tomato section not far from me.

“oh, about eight inches.” She replied casually, without looking up.

I continued digging until I reached eight inches under the groud. I sprinkled some flower food and placed one of the plants in the hole. I gazed at the plant and was deeply troubled.

“What is the matter?” Mom asked, sensing that something went wrong.

“Well, a hole of eight inches deep will burry the plant entirely.” I frowned.

She laughed when looking at the pathetic plant sitting unhappily in the hole.

“Sorry, I thought you were asking how far apart from each other the plants need to be. The hole should be just deep enough to cover the roots of the plant.” She said.

Realized how silly I was, I laughed too, corrected the error and a moment later, there  was  my  first  flower.

“Hey you, you are the first flower I ever planted. I hope you grow healthy and bloom beautifully.” I murmured to the flower.

“I am sure that would help the growing.” Mom heard my baby talking to the plant and couldn’t help making fun of me.

That night at dinner, mom reported proudly to everyone about my little garden.

“Should we put a sign with your name on it?” Dad teased me with a serious tone.

I thought for a second, smiled for a second, then put on a grave face and said,

“No. But I will consider putting up a sign of ‘no trespassing’.”

Everyone laughed at my childish idea. Dad, especially, was attracting attention from the whole dinning room.

“Poor city girl! So proud to own a piece of land.” He responded.

The truth is I don’t want to own anything at all if possible. Ownership of any sort translates into responsibility, commitment and opportunity cost. It seems to me that many people buy acres of land just to be able to put a sign of “no trespassing” to gain a sense of authority.