The Couple Next Door

 How Does Your Garden Grow?

Growing up in Queens, NY,  I didn't have many opportunities to play in large grassy areas surrounded by beautiful gardens.  My family did however have a house with a backyard that contained a small garden next to the side of our garage.  My father was very proud to have his roses grow tall on trellises and of his vegetable garden filled with many herbs, and being Italian he had to grow tomatoes, eggplants, zucchini and of course a fig tree. My mother was not especially into gardening but appreciated the gifts it produced because she loved cooking and having the scent of fresh roses always present during the spring and summer months.  Although I have two brothers neither one of them was particularly interested in gardening, but I seemed to have inherited that gene from my dad.

On early Sunday mornings before we headed out to church, Dad and I had breakfast and then set out to work in the garden to do some weeding, turning the soil, and watering.  We walked on bricks that were placed in the middle of the garden while inspecting the growth of the vegetables and rose buds. After about an hour or so of working, we would open the garage doors and pull out two lawn chairs even though we did not have a lawn to sit on.We sat and chatted while watching our garden, and that was the time when he would reach for my hand, kissed it and say,"Bel giardino"! We talked about how the garden was progressing and then proceeded to talk about a little of everything. Our little garden therapy sessions remain very much alive inside of me and propel me every spring to start planting.  After divorcing I sold my house leaving behind a very lovely Japanese and vegetable garden. I no longer live in a house, but I do live in a garden apartment that has a small patio and some outdoor space for planting. 

Even though Dad is no longer alive I can still hear his voice guiding me along as I work pulling weeds and watering my plants.  My garden still grows, perhaps not as large as it used to be, but the process of taking care of a small patch of flowers and herbs offers me the same pleasures as when I was a child.  Something about having my hands in soil puts me right into the present moment and makes me smile.  I recall many conversations I had with Dad on those early Sunday mornings while I am in my garden working, and I feel he is right by my side guiding me along.  My garden grows because it keeps a part of my life alive, one very special part. How does your garden grow?