Those of us here at Wright Gardens lost a friend and mentor in July. My Father died two and a half years after being diagnosed with prostate cancer. He was surrounded by us, his immediate family, when he drew his last breath, and was aware that we were all with him. We should all be so lucky to leave this mortal coil peacefully while surrounded by our loved ones.
My Pop always had a garden and I marveled at the entire process of seed, soil, and the elements coming together to form all of the beautiful foods. My
Great-Grandmother Anna was also a farmer in a small town in central Wisconsin. Both of these experiences with gardens, large and small, had an impact on me, and since then I've always enjoyed gardening. Lawns are a waste of good soil.
From the time I was in the third grade, I can recall my Pop starting seeds in peat pots, which then sat in front of the large picture window of our family room from late February to around May/June each year. He'd carefully water, talk to, and care for the tiny seedlings. It was fun to look inside the peat pots each morning to see if a wee sprout had pushed its way above the surface of the soil. I still take great joy in spotting new tender sprouts making their first appearance. I talk to them, gently water and care for them, and treat each life with the same respect that my Father showed to the seedlings he helped grow year after year.
Dad grew many different things over the years -kohlrabi, radishes, sweet corn, cabbage, zucchini, beans, melons, to name a few- but tomatoes were always a constant. The same is true at Wright Gardens. In fact, the first year at our home, I dug four holes in the ground, in the middle of the lawn, and planted a tomato seedling in each. No official garden plot was established that first year, but we had homegrown tomatoes that summer! Garlic seed was planted that fall, too.
The tomatoes in my Pop's garden were the envy of his neighbors Art and Lee. Every year the plants grew to be slightly taller than the fence separating the two yards, which was six feet high. Art would always ask my Dad what he did to the plants to get them to grow so well. My Dad would just laugh and tell Art that he talked to the plants. The tomato plants were properly supported by strong wooden stakes, but they were tall, healthy plants that produced pound after pound after pound of beautiful tomatoes. He did, of course, talk to the plants.
My sights were set on establishing a vegetable and herb garden during the second summer at our home. I envisioned a large garden plot (one I had envisioned for many years, really), and my beloved gave me permission to run with the plan. Seeds were planted in February and set to grow under a sunny window. Once the Earth thawed and was warm enough to break ground, my Dad came to the house with his
rototiller. He showed me how to use it and helped me till a small section of the backyard. The following day, I
finished the job and was beaming!
In the years to follow, my Pop was impressed with the
raised bed frame that I built; the
strawberry bed that was eventually added to the mix; as well as designated planting areas for
garlic and
tomatoes. Our garden was finally in the same league as the garden my Pop maintained in my youth. He was excited while looking around the garden with me, asking about the various things that were growing, and I could tell that he was proud of what I had accomplished in our backyard.
A book that my Dad used while establishing his garden is Crockett's Victory Garden. I have the copy of that very book, and it is filled with my Father's handwritten annotations. It was a treasure when he was alive, and even more of a treasure now.
Although my Dad was too sick to plant seedlings for the garden this year, my Mom purchased four tomato plants for him. I then planted them in his garden bed under his watchful eye. I secured the plants to stakes as they grew so they wouldn't fall to the ground as the fruit matured. Dad was alive to see the first perfectly ripe red orb that was harvested from his garden. The sight of it made him smile.
Now, while gardening, not only will I think of my Great-Grandmother Anna, but also of my Father, William. I love you, Papa! A multitude of thanks for loving the Earth and introducing me to your passion of gardening, which I made my own even before I had my own yard.
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| Mom and Dad enjoying a weekend of fishing and camping. |
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My Dad was an avid fisherman.
Pictured here with pelicans that befriended him while fishing in Sanibel, Florida |
