At lot of us have great memories of being in the garden with our fathers, or hearing our fathers tell stories of the gardens they had when they were kids. So to honor all the great gardening Dads out there, here's a delightful email and poem that I received.
Since it's GARDEN SEASON, I wanted to share a poem I wrote about my Dad who passed away in 1990. It has been displayed in a frame at our WV State Fair in the vegetable section several times. It hangs in my dining room every Spring. Hope you enjoy it.
~Elizabeth Mitchell~
~Gardening With Daddy~
My moments in the garden, I will always treasure
No matter how hard, Daddy made it a pleasure.
We'd start in February, discussing all our needs
Who we'd get to plow, make a list of the seeds.
Talk about the mistakes, we'd made the year before
Did we get too much rain, was the ground too poor?
We rehearsed the planting, until Spring had come
Anxious to find out, if we had a green thumb.
Like "The Little Red Hen", who'd help plant the corn?
They'd all run and hide, winter had them worn.
So we'd get out the tiller, and tune it up right
Then we'd soak beans and corn, in a can overnight.
We'd load up in your truck, to the garden we'd go
A file in your back pocket, to sharpen up the hoe.
With plenty of cold pop, and tobacco to chew
Ready for a days farming, it was just me and you.
After we arrived there, with our seeds and fertilize
You'd stand at the garden, looking with squinched eyes.
You'd start off with plowing, the tiller jerked you around
I'd offer to take over, you'd cuss Hobert the hound.
Then we'd throw out the rocks, and cuss the crab grass
Run the soil through your hands, to see if it would pass.
When I'd lay off the rows, I could hear your teeth grit
That meant they were crooked, from where you would sit.
You'd drop the fertilize, and I would drag the hoe
Then we'd sort through the seeds, to find the lettuce to sow.
We'd sip on our co-cola, under a big shade tree
Every now and then, we'd have us a Hershey.
The taters would be next, you could never stand
Dryness from the peels, left you spitting in your hand.
The onions were dropped, then set up straight
You liked them so well, but they were never ate.
When evening shadows fell, the frogs would hollar
We'd go home for supper, feeling a bit taller.
Our vegetable garden, was then sprayed and weeded
Sometimes every day, whatever was needed.
And what a big harvest, we'd have in the fall
Our backaches forgotten, it was worth it all.
Now that you're in heaven, and in God's care
I'm sure there's a garden, waiting for you there.
I will miss you Daddy, supervising me this year
I just keep believing, a part of you is still here.
Written by:
Elizabeth Mitchell
Shady Springs, WV
Thank you SO much for sharing, Elizabeth! Here at Park Seed and Wayside Gardens, we appreciate and admire fathers everywhere who share their love of gardening with their children and plant the seeds for more generations of great gardeners! Send your family gardening memories, pictures, and poems to me at ckuhl@parkseed.com and I'll proudly post them here for all to enjoy.
