I love gardens! All types! Both my grandparents were farmers so perhaps it's in my genes.
Summers were the best! I spent time helping my grandpa set cyphons in the ditch. He made it look simple, I ended up sucking on the tube to try to get some suction going and got a mouthful of muddy water.
Grandma sent me out to pull weeds and pick ripe peas, I brought her lots of pods minus the peas.
My brother Steve was the tree-climbing monkey, but when he wasn't available I got sent up to pick the apricots, I liked being in the tree--I didn't like going out on a limb to retrieve the fruit.
Canning was hot, tedious work...however, I loved listening to my grandmother tell stories as we peeled peaches and pairs.
My grandarents had an enormous lawn. They watered it by irrigation. It was remarkable that we were able to create countless ways to make full use of grass that was covered in 6 inches of water. I loved it as much as being at the ocean or pool.
Sometimes my uncles, David and Lowell, would stuff me into an old wooden barrel and roll me around the lawn until I was on the verge of throwing up.
Grandpa tried to teach me how to milk the cows--he made it appear easy. Try as I might I never got the hang of it. Instead grandma gave me the job of carrying a gallon of fresh milk to the neighbor in exchange for a dozen eggs.
My all time favorite memory is setting the table with all the fresh produce from the garden. It was difficult to exercise self control during the prayer as the food's aroma made me dizzy in anticipation.
My efforts pale in comparison to my progenitors, however, each time I dig up a weed, pick a cucumber or slice up a tomato I am reminded of my youth and the love, admiration and respect I felt for them. I'd like to think that ocassionally they catch a glimpse of me, and my efforts make them smile.