When I was a kid we lived on a typical quarter acre block in the suburbs. Our garden featured dense green grass, glorious hydrangeas, a magnolia tree with a towering gum in the middle of the lawn. Mum planted a grove of those elms with the white trunks that had seed pods you could flake into hundreds of delicate little leaves. There were snap dragons, azaleas and a run of jacaranda trees down the street that every year carpeted the suburb in a swathe of glorious menopausal purple. My mum worked that garden every weekend – weeding, planting, nurturing. Good times.