Gardening from Generation to GenerationI grew up gardening. My grandfather had a garden…not a huge one but enough land to plant beautiful straight rows of tomatoes, peppers, okra, squash and other summer and fall vegetables. For fun, he even tried his hands at peanuts, watermelons, cantaloupe and a couple of cotton plants...just to show the grandkids and neighbors ... and "just to see how they turn out," he'd say.
He grew fresh vegetables for our family’s dinner table…but he also grew them to educate me. You see, he loved the land and he wanted me to love it, too. To this day, I can still remember the feel of rich Louisiana river bank soil in my hands. And its smell! There’s nothing like it in the world…fresh, robust, sweet!
I remember the look of my grandfather’s hands, weathered and callused, working beside my tender, tiny hands. Pop-o had his large garden and I had my own. Together, we worked the soil; pulled the weeds; planted the tiny plants and quenched the soil’s thirst for water. Each day, I awoke and ran barefooted to the garden to see how nature’s handiwork had changed overnight.
Each year, my own little garden boasted one lone blackeyed-pea and lima bean bush, a tomato and pepper plant, and a single strawberry plant. Throughout the summer, Pop-o and I harvested our crops and basked in the praises we received for our efforts at our family’s dinner table. There is nothing as satisfying as eating the peas that you planted, nurtured, picked and shelled! No store-bought, canned or frozen peas would dare to compare.
Today, I’m passing that passion for gardening on to my own daughter. Times have changed. We don’t own a tiller and our gardens are now limited to containers. But none the less, the love of land and sense of accomplishment can still be passed on, no matter its form.
Freshly-grown tomatoes, peppers and strawberries are now on our family’s dinner table. Well, everything but the strawberries. As soon as they rippen, my daughter plucks them from their sunny spot and runs to wash them in the water spigot, quickly popping the sweet berries into her mouth. I see her sitting on the swing, barefooted, tanned and smiling, and I catch a glimpse of myself at six years old, eating the best strawberries in the whole life! I think of my grandfather and can just picture his big smile of approval, as he removes his hat and wipes his brow...pausing just a moment from his work in Heaven’s gardens.
He grew fresh vegetables for our family’s dinner table…but he also grew them to educate me. You see, he loved the land and he wanted me to love it, too. To this day, I can still remember the feel of rich Louisiana river bank soil in my hands. And its smell! There’s nothing like it in the world…fresh, robust, sweet!
I remember the look of my grandfather’s hands, weathered and callused, working beside my tender, tiny hands. Pop-o had his large garden and I had my own. Together, we worked the soil; pulled the weeds; planted the tiny plants and quenched the soil’s thirst for water. Each day, I awoke and ran barefooted to the garden to see how nature’s handiwork had changed overnight.
Each year, my own little garden boasted one lone blackeyed-pea and lima bean bush, a tomato and pepper plant, and a single strawberry plant. Throughout the summer, Pop-o and I harvested our crops and basked in the praises we received for our efforts at our family’s dinner table. There is nothing as satisfying as eating the peas that you planted, nurtured, picked and shelled! No store-bought, canned or frozen peas would dare to compare.
Today, I’m passing that passion for gardening on to my own daughter. Times have changed. We don’t own a tiller and our gardens are now limited to containers. But none the less, the love of land and sense of accomplishment can still be passed on, no matter its form.
Freshly-grown tomatoes, peppers and strawberries are now on our family’s dinner table. Well, everything but the strawberries. As soon as they rippen, my daughter plucks them from their sunny spot and runs to wash them in the water spigot, quickly popping the sweet berries into her mouth. I see her sitting on the swing, barefooted, tanned and smiling, and I catch a glimpse of myself at six years old, eating the best strawberries in the whole life! I think of my grandfather and can just picture his big smile of approval, as he removes his hat and wipes his brow...pausing just a moment from his work in Heaven’s gardens.
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