My father’s garden, my garden
I grew up gardening at my father’s side. We lived in a 1890s farm house on a half acre of land. Not a huge spread, but enough for us to raise chickens, put in a fish pond, and plant a quite useful vegetable garden.
I don’t remember much about what we planted — other than I know we had pumpkins for Halloween, giant sized late summer zucchini, and I always begged to have at least one or two sunflowers to harvest (though I was challenged getting to the seeds before the crows did). I remember spring time when I was no more than five or six, doling out seeds, running from hole to hole with the hose, impatiently checking for sprouts, day in and day out.
More though, I remember the other highlights of the yard: Our Bing and royal Anne cherry trees, the upper branches in perfect pit-spitting distance from one another, the pie cherry tree that always yielded her crop on June 14th, thus creating the family tradition of Bastille Day pie, the peach tree that, if we were very lucky, yielded just a few peaches per year, and the mountain ash — not edible to us, but to the evening grosbeaks, it was better than the neighborhood pub. By the time those bright orange berries had reached perfect fermentation, the tree would be saturated with grosbeaks, all chattering up a storm and falling off branches, dead drunk.
That’s what I remember. My father, I’m sure, remembers the detail of his planted garden. Not just the vegetables, but his native plants as well — taking pride in having much more than the hydrangeas and camellias we saw at all our neighbors’ houses. Colts foot, bleeding heart, devil’s club. Just the names alone made our garden the coolest garden in the neighborhood.
We’ve long since moved from that house, and now my parents live at the edge of unspoiled woods with a meadow in front and just a small plot that my father’s turned into workable garden space. With my brother’s help he put in a pond. He’s planted fruit trees, raspberry canes, his favorite native plants, and a lively vegetable garden. But, in more recent months, he hasn’t been able to do much more than pull a few weeds or clip back a tiny portion of the winter’s debris.
And now it’s spring again. And this will be his last garden. And since we are here, my husband and I, and since we know how much he hates to look out form his wheelchair and see the weeds and neglect, we will plant it. We have big plans. Squash, peppers, tomatoes, an assortment of greens, potatoes, peas, and as many herbs as we can cram into our designated space. We’ll prune the fruit trees, make quick work of the berries, and run string up to the eves for a late summer riot of green beans.
He won’t be able to eat most of what we plant, and he may not be around for the harvest. But that’s not what matters here. I want him to know this garden will be well cared for. I want him to know I remember my childhood of gardening and that it was never a chore and always a pleasure. I want him to know he taught me well.
April 11th, 2005 at 9:10 am
The garden’s a wonderful gift to your father. Thanks for sharing it.
April 11th, 2005 at 10:53 am
Hey,
Looks like we’re about the same age, I have some of those same prints with about the same background of me. Someplace. My treat was my grandmother’s garden. She’d spend the entire day out in the garden, I was right along with her. Except I played with my cars, dug holes that kind of stuff. One of my favorite trees was the mandarin orange tree, loved it so much she made me a little bench I could sit on and peel the oranges. Best times ever. She’s long since passed and my uncle has kept the house in the family. The garden has taken on many faces over the last 20 years, but the fruit trees are still all there and in good shape. He’s good with it as well. Some day I hope to move my two boys and wife in to the house and take over the garden myself. I don’t know how large the yard is, but it’s big enough to feed my family of 4 and quite a bit more. Whoda thought a house bought in 1946 would still be giving the same family food & shelter 59 years later.
Biggles
April 15th, 2005 at 4:16 pm
Kevin: thank you! Right now the weather’s not cooperating enough for much gift-giving, but I hope to be out there soon, under his watchful eye.
Biggles: That is so wonderful that you have the same garden in the family all these years! I’ll confess I was a bit of a tomboy and when I wasn’t helping my dad I was all over the gravel driveway with Tonka Trucks. I think I may have even tried the hole-to-china routine once or twice. I hope you get your chance to take over the garden — the fruit trees must be especially wonderful with over twenty seasons of bounty behind them.
April 22nd, 2005 at 1:16 pm
Hey Mrs. D,
Eeek, I think most of the apple, pear, citrus and some others probably have 40 or more years on them. The cherry trees are probably about 30 or so at least. The apricot is about the same as the cherry, 30. My grandmother planted a plum tree for me about the time I was walking, I suppose I must have liked plums. I enjoyed them less and less over the years and within the last 5 years my uncle took the sucker out. They can make the yard awful messy when you don’t pick the fruit, ick. Yeah, very nice stuff.
Biggles
April 22nd, 2005 at 5:12 pm
We have two plum trees in our yard back in Portland. I know that mess well!
Up here, the prize is the apple tree. We don’t know what kind it is — it was supposed to be a Golden Delicious, but the apples it produces are big and red and amazingly tasty (nothing at all like the Red Delicious at the store that taste more like foamcore). I’m gunning for all sorts of apple treats this year: cobbler, crepes, tart tatin…