Ever since I was a little girl gardening has been a big part
of my life. The feel of the soil between my bare feet, and the smell of earth
left on my body after a pleasing day spent working the garden with my
grandparents; are some of the fondest memories my mind holds. I spent the majority of my youth with my
Grandparents who would not have survived without their garden. It was their life’s work, the glue that held
the family together. Their garden meant everything to me. It was more than an acre and supplied half
the county with fresh vegetables all summer long. Not to mention the masses of
canning my grandmother did that kept us with plenty of green beans and canned
tomatoes all winter.
There was never a shortage of work to be done on the
homestead; we grand kids were always with employment. If ever left unattended for more than a day
or two the weeds could take over in a hurry! There was always something that
needed picked, pulled or plucked. It’s
no wonder I had callouses on my hands at a young age.
The work was never thrust upon us though, it was a joy to
help them out and see how they in turn helped others. My grandparents always
seemed to make the work magical and fun. I remember digging up potatoes and my
Grandfather placing buckets at both ends of the rows, we would race to see who
could fill their bucket up first. During the afternoons we would sit on the
porch and listen to Grandma tell stories while snapping beans, before we knew
it we would have half a bushel of beans snapped and ready to can.
The garden was a retreat a way to escape all life’s problems
that could plague any youth. It taught me a great deal about life, many of
those lessons I try to instill in my own children. The world was a lot simpler
when looked through the eyes of that garden.
It was routine and some days mundane, but the benefits from all the hard
work and the reward you got when biting into something you helped grow, is
simply unexplained.
As much as the garden means to me, I think what appeals most
about it is the time that was spent with my Grandparents. I find myself
thinking more and more about them and coveting that time I spent with them in
their garden. As they age I look at my own children who are growing up without
grandparents like that and feel sad that I’m unable to give them the kind of
childhood that I had. Even if they spend time with their grandparents they or
their grandparents supply them with some sort of gadget to keep them occupied.
I am forever grateful that my grandparents choose to teach me a skill that will
stay with me forever. Don’t get me wrong I do try to teach my children the art
of gardening; however, it just isn’t the same. 