One of the reasons that I realise I must be getting older, is that I have found myself getting interested in our garden. So far as I know, it is only a very few rare horticulturalists who have any time for gardening between the age of about 10 and about 50.
Most young kids show a short flurry of interest, whether it's growing a broadbean in a jar or being allocated some hankerchief-size plot next to the family dustbins. But it tends not to last. Single broadbeans might be easy to germinate, but they are pretty unrewarding, once you've got the point. And, aged nine or so, your own plot is normally a disaster. I remember giving it up in a huff when I discovered that ground elder took more to eradicate than just snipping it off with a scissors at ground level.
For much of the next four decades, I took the same basic line. I remember when the kids were little occasionally devoting a few hours on a Sunday to a major weeding operation. It always felt like even less rewarding housework than cleaning the bath. That's to say, it was never ever DONE. Even if you have better weeding techniques than you had when you were nine, as soon as you reach the end of the garden, you can almost see the ground elder popping up again where you first started. Like the Forth Bridge but worse.