One of the best memories I have of my Grandpa Marshall was him teaching me to plot a vegetable garden.
I must have been about eight years old. My Grandparents were visiting from Florida in early Spring. My Father and I had created a garden bed along the back of the house underneath my parent's bedroom window. The space measured about five feet out from the house to fifteen feet from the corner to the edge of the porch. Two bushes took up the space nearest the back porch. The rest would be mine to tend. The perfect place for my first vegetable garden.
The sun shone overhead on that early spring day. We double-checked our list. Seeds from the local market -- check. Starter plants -- check. String and stakes -- check. Shovel -- check. Rake -- check. Garden hoe -- check. Garden hose connected to the spout -- check. One elder sage -- present. One middle-aged sage -- present. And one eager eight-year-old -- present.
We were ready. The spring planting begun.
The elder sage, my Grandpa Marshall, was in charge. I remember looking up at him. He always had a burr haircut, a sign of my own future hair style. The first task -- over-turn the dirt in the bed. As I recall, the middle-aged sage did this. It was a little much for a eight-year-old to wield the shovel; however, I got the job of then raking the newly turned soil.
At this point, the elder sage advised on the layout. From left to right, radishes, green beans, beets, green peppers, and tomatoes -- I think. Don't quote me, but I think that was the order. Next came the stakes and string. One stack at the back against the brick of the house; the other at the front at the edge of the grass. I was instructed to tie the string so it would stretch tightly from one stake to the other. This would the guideline to dig the trench. The seed packets were opened, the seeds planted, and the seeds covered up by fresh dirt.
When my Grandpa Marshall opened the packet of beans, I remember him looking in and saying "These are already to be cooked. We can take them inside." It was the little bit of humor that I remember the most. That single moment out of the entire experience. One of my few "live for the moment" moments.
The last step was to water the whole area well and then often. That summer, I watered, weeded, and waited and waited and waited... Somehow, an episode of The Andy Griffith Show comes to mind. The one where Aunt Bea puts Opie to work growing spinach. You can only wait so long for the spinach to grow. The big difference was I knew that I would eventually be rewarded. And I was with the harvest.
And besides, I had a great teacher who took the time to spend with a ten-year-old. I couldn't have asked for better.
CSM
I must have been about eight years old. My Grandparents were visiting from Florida in early Spring. My Father and I had created a garden bed along the back of the house underneath my parent's bedroom window. The space measured about five feet out from the house to fifteen feet from the corner to the edge of the porch. Two bushes took up the space nearest the back porch. The rest would be mine to tend. The perfect place for my first vegetable garden.
The sun shone overhead on that early spring day. We double-checked our list. Seeds from the local market -- check. Starter plants -- check. String and stakes -- check. Shovel -- check. Rake -- check. Garden hoe -- check. Garden hose connected to the spout -- check. One elder sage -- present. One middle-aged sage -- present. And one eager eight-year-old -- present.
We were ready. The spring planting begun.
The elder sage, my Grandpa Marshall, was in charge. I remember looking up at him. He always had a burr haircut, a sign of my own future hair style. The first task -- over-turn the dirt in the bed. As I recall, the middle-aged sage did this. It was a little much for a eight-year-old to wield the shovel; however, I got the job of then raking the newly turned soil.
At this point, the elder sage advised on the layout. From left to right, radishes, green beans, beets, green peppers, and tomatoes -- I think. Don't quote me, but I think that was the order. Next came the stakes and string. One stack at the back against the brick of the house; the other at the front at the edge of the grass. I was instructed to tie the string so it would stretch tightly from one stake to the other. This would the guideline to dig the trench. The seed packets were opened, the seeds planted, and the seeds covered up by fresh dirt.
When my Grandpa Marshall opened the packet of beans, I remember him looking in and saying "These are already to be cooked. We can take them inside." It was the little bit of humor that I remember the most. That single moment out of the entire experience. One of my few "live for the moment" moments.
The last step was to water the whole area well and then often. That summer, I watered, weeded, and waited and waited and waited... Somehow, an episode of The Andy Griffith Show comes to mind. The one where Aunt Bea puts Opie to work growing spinach. You can only wait so long for the spinach to grow. The big difference was I knew that I would eventually be rewarded. And I was with the harvest.
And besides, I had a great teacher who took the time to spend with a ten-year-old. I couldn't have asked for better.
CSM
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