It seemed almost predestined that I would become a gardener.My green-thumbed mother brought me into this world on Earth Day and raised me in the suburbs of the great Garden State. When I was a kid, we’d routinely visit local farms to pick Jersey Fresh blueberries and apples, and some of my earliest memories are of “helping” her tend our vegetable patch, giant sunflowers towering over me.But one thing I didn’t inherit from my mom is her sun-avoidant fashion sense. She has always diligently protected her skin from the sun, which means wearing dark-colored long-sleeved shirts and pants, as well as a wide-brimmed hat, even in the middle of July.My garden getup, on the other hand, consists of no hat atop my freakishly large head, a years-old tank top and cargo shorts, and a pair of treadless, beaten-down Crocs (sans socks) on my feet.