There is often an “ aha” moment when a person realizes that they want to study Horticultural Therapy; very often a sense of irony accompanies that moment. Such as it is with my decision after 35 years of dental practice, to change my life and pursue this formal education. To illustrate this, I must turn back the storybook to 1968. As a little boy, my father, who takes great pride in his beautiful lawn and gardens, utilized me and my two brothers to help over many summer weekends. It was hard work and without an increase in our weekly allowance (50 cents a week), We could till, mow, weed, prune, plant, water, mulch, and lay down terracing to our heart’s content. I decided one August day (not an August moment) to express my displeasure at having given up yet another Saturday for his benefit. To my surprise, he indicated that if I didn’t like it, I was free to leave. Without much deliberation, I promptly packed up my school bag with a set of clothes, my saved allowance, and a secret Clark bar, and announced I was going to move to Baltimore and live with my favorite Aunt Brenda. An hour later, my dad picked me up walked to the bus station, brought me home, paddled me, and told me I was expected to show up for chores the next afternoon after church for my disobedience.