The garden key

The key turned stiffly, and the allotment gate dragged a shallow groove through the soil. Since my aunt died, no one had tended the plot. I had expected disorder, but the sight of her carefully painted plant labels lying face-down in the mud made the neglect feel personal. When my sleeve brushed the rosemary, its scent returned me to summer afternoons when she sent me home with more vegetables than I could carry. Beneath the bench, I found her gloves folded inside the watering can. That small piece of order steadied me. I was not there to replace her choices with my own; I would uncover the paths and give the plants she had selected room to grow again.

In your own words, explain the writer's thoughts and feelings before beginning work in the garden.