For Gerald Hoff, Saturday mornings were sacred. While his wife Miriam hosted her book club in the living room, Gerald would pull on his muddy boots and retreat to the narrow garden behind their semi-detached house in Harrogate. He wasn't a particularly skilled gardener—his courgettes were average, his runner beans passable, and his mint had a tendency to invade neighboring plants. But the act of digging itself was what he loved: the resistance of the clay soil, the earthy aroma of freshly turned ground, and the solid thud of his spade hitting the dirt.
Man Discovers Ancient Necklace While Gardening – Jeweler's Startling Reaction Leaves Him Speechless