My daughter asked me this question as she watched me struggling with installing hoops to hold insect netting over a bed of chard and kale. It didn't, apparently, look like an activity to which one would attach such a positive emotional response. I broke a nail, was probably cursing, and I looked more disheveled than my regular appearance. At first I considered her question sarcastic, because that is her personality. She has a way of commenting with biting and enlightening humor. Often. And without abandon. But hours later, I had an epiphany. Whether she meant to or not, she had just revealed the secret to developing tradition, intergenerational bond, and culture. Someone taught us to love what we love. And what we love makes up who we are.
It was my grandmother. Her name was Rose. She smelled like roses and her perfect skin and crystal blue eyes drew you in. She didn't speak loudly, but we listened as if she did. She commanded the household with a look and quivering lips. And she bent at the waist when gardening for hours at a time. I joke that the garden ornaments that people stick into their grass portraying a bent over woman in a house dress and apron were modeled after her. She grew everything and anything. She could finish eating a peach, throw it into her Zone 6B soil and the next year, we'd be tying up branches loaded with fruit. OK, not exactly in a year, but you get my point. Gardening was effortless for her. Flowers bloomed, tomatoes ripened, peppers blushed and were immediately pickled. When the days of bending at the waist became more difficult, I built her some raised beds that she could sit on to tend to her plants. She trellised with sticks and tied up with old nylon stockings. No fancy garden structures, although she made a series of beds cut through the lawn loaded with gladiolus (one of her favorites) that I'm sure frustrated the heck out of the lawn maintenance guy. We spent our childhood in that backyard. I grew to love gardening because I loved her. She was a garden and it was always abundant.
So, Rose, this year and every year is for you. Thank you for teaching me to love gardening and growing things. May we all be as successful teaching the next generation to love something.
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