It’s spring planting time, and Kathy and I are infected with “garden fever.” The dog-eared seed catalogs have been tossed, and the cobwebs have been dusted from our rakes and hoes. We are itching to get our hands dirty.The source of this passion can be traced to our Grandma Flood.
Grandma was always busy in the kitchen. When our family would drop by to visit, we would usually find her at the stove with an apron snugly tied around her waist. Everything she cooked was either raised or grown on the farm.
Every year, Grandma planted a good-sized garden in her backyard. The garden was a place of family pride, and Grandma was particular about how it looked. The rows were straight and the seeds were carefully sown. This was serious business. These crops were not only for fresh produce during the summer, but also to be canned and stored in the root cellar for the winter months.
We loved to sit on the front porch in the evening with Grandma drinking sweet tea from pint jars and snapping beans. When the bushel basket was emptied of beans we were allowed to take a salt shaker and visit the tomato patch. Picking a warm red tomato and eating it in the garden was wonderful. A tomato never tasted better.
Grandma has been gone many years now, but the memories she made gardening with two small girls will last a lifetime.