Receiving a garden of blessings

By Mary Catherine Rogers

Before the rains took hold of the good Southern dirt here, I was able to enjoy one last fresh garden tomato and one tasty cold watermelon. I can hear my Grandmother’s voice echo as I tell my kids, “Nothing tastes better than a freshly picked garden tomato.”

I’ve had the pleasure of dining in fine restaurants from New York to Florida. But all roads really do lead to home. You may keep the fancy stuff and leave for me the simple fixings of fresh grown squash, new potatoes, beans, peppers, tomatoes and all of the good foods one can grow in a grand vegetable garden. I guess you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl. Although, when we first married, my husband called me his “city” girl. He knew he had his work cut out for him, but he was up for the challenge. He did a fine job of seeing to it that I learned to appreciate the easier, simpler things of life.

I eventually traded my desire for concrete and high-rise buildings for towering, majestic mountains. After that, even produce from the store was never the same. There was and is absolutely no comparison. He had made a true country girl out of me.

When I was a youngster, I never understood why someone would want toil so hard, pampering, watering, tending to a little seed waiting for it to produce a bean. I felt it was a waste of good time and I lacked the patience for it. I reasoned that one could take a quick trip to the local market and purchase food right from a can. Voila! No waiting. Now I know better. With age comes a bit of patience. I understand the reward of the waiting. Heaven only knows where that store-bought produce comes from! Most foods today are polluted with chemicals. There is certainly a great difference in the taste. I owe my knowledgeable palate to my late husband, who was the caretaker of our garden. It seemed he could look at a seed, and it would flourish.

Every year he planted for us, out on the back acre, a garden large enough to feed many. After he learned to outwit the fowls and vermin that had come down from trees and flew out of the skies to eat his wares, we feasted on fresh garden foods. The food was scrumptious and he felt triumphant. It was the best of times. He was always carrying a bag of “goodies” to appreciative co-workers and neighbors. I fussed. I worried that he devoted too much of himself and energy to the garden. But I underestimated the therapy it provided for him. The garden was his space. It offered up a quiet time, free from the worries of the world as he communed with God and found an unspeakable peace while letting go of the more complex things of life.

To me it was a garden, albeit, delightful and delicious. But to him it was a world of his own creation. It gave him joy to provide for his family, healthy robust foods, just like the food he’d come to love from his childhood. There in his garden he was master of his domain. And in that confidence, he found great joy. I finally came to realize, for him, there was more to it than just planting a few seeds. It was satisfaction of orchestrating something larger than himself. This city girl never learned to can the foods quite the way his mother or grandmother had successfully done. No matter, there was always plenty to eat and the rest was for sharing. It made him happy; sharing and remembering “the good old days” when neighbors did that sort of thing. Too young to experience the great depression personally, he recalled many stories from his grandparents and he taught his children great values, such as to always be thankful for what they had on their plates.

Since he died, I haven’t been able to return to the kitchen and cook an old fashioned meal, the kind that he would have loved and bragged on. Still, the gifts of fresh squash and tomatoes have not gone wasted this year.

The back acre is empty now. A lonely reminder of where a tender man once toiled with great joy, to provide for those he loved. But, so much of him remains here with us now. This month would have been our 32nd wedding anniversary. I’ve been reflecting on all the good things he left to me and his children. He passed along rich values. He showed us the joy of sharing all that we have been blessed with, even if it’s just a tomato. He showed us there is reward in being patient and above all, he taught me the splendor of simplicity.