March 28, 2024

A love that goes beyond the land

Early in the morning, he rises with knees creaking as he stands from his bed. He prepares for the long day ahead, donning his worn pair of coveralls and beat-up Pioneer cap, which covers the few white hairs that remain on his head.

After a quick cup of instant coffee and oatmeal, he makes his way out to the garage, or “The Shop,” as he calls it. He loads his tools, buckets and boxes in his truck bed and hops into the cab, still light on his feet after 80-plus years. Driving slowly so things don’t shift around, he travels the short distance to his destination.

The world is just waking up around him, and he takes a moment to gaze at the stretch of land where he will be spending his day. Not wanting to waste the cool morning, he gets to work to create his masterpiece. Days of prep work already completed, he continues where he left off from the previous evening. With tender loving care, he prepares each section of soil for what’s to come.

The results will not be immediate, but he will watch over his work. One day, months from this moment, his garden will thrive and yield satisfying and tasty results.

My grandfather loved to garden. Since I can remember, he and my grandmother put in hours upon hours of work tending expansive gardens from the first moments of spring until the end of fall. The farm life mentality never left them, even after moving to town. It was a great way for them to enjoy their golden years. In my youth, I would help in any way I could. It was an excuse to get dirty without getting into trouble with mom — what kid wouldn’t love that opportunity?

Even after grandma passed, grandpa continued in his gardening ways and even expanded. He found a nice, empty lot in the north part of Garwin and had an agreement with the owners about using the space for his garden. He planted tomatoes, onions, radishes, peas, sweet corn, potatoes, pumpkins, watermelons and everything in between. Every spare minute was spent tending his garden, of course, always taking a break during the warmer hours of the day for his afternoon nap.

He had his own special way to do everything to get the soil just right for planting, which was fantastic and frustrating because you can never duplicate it. He took pride in being able to plant tomato plants in the double digits and rows and rows of sweet corn. When the raccoons would try to steal some of his golden-eared crop, he put up an electric fence to ward them off; and he even slept a few nights by his garden to protect what was his.

We lost him almost nine years ago. Every year, around this time, I think of him and imagine that he’s out in his garden somewhere, getting everything ready for another impressive crop. No matter how many vegetables I eat, they will never compare to the ones from his garden.

In his last year with us, he was able to get one last garden started before he joined grandma in heaven. As a family, we were able to finish what he started. I’m sure we didn’t do everything exactly as he did, but we tried our best. We continue to plant tomatoes each year, but we keep it to just a few plants. It’s a great way to honor his memory and think about all the times spent helping grandpa in the garden.

Contact Pam Rodgers at
641-792-3121 ext. 6531
or prodgers@newtondailynews.com