The grass was soft between my toes, slightly cool in the shade and felt nice from the summer heat. It wasn’t like typical grass, it had a different texture, not like the sharp and itchy kind I was used to.
I looked across the yard to see my paw paw working in the garden, just beyond the sweet grape vines they used to make their communion wine for church.
I grew up around gardens: flowers and vegetables. My grandmother could get the most reluctant Christmas cactus and hydrangea bush to bloom every year. I don’t think she ever found a plant as stubborn as herself that she could not get to succumb to blooming and growing.
I didn’t realize it then, but the amount of love, care and work my grandparents put into their garden could be seen from the fruits of their labor. In their cellar they stored canned vegetables from hours of harvesting and preserving: Green beans, corn, tomatoes, salsa, spaghetti sauce, pickles, beets, jams, pie fillings, etc.
There was a time when I was a teenager that my parent’s yard was a bit embarrassing. The amount of plants and flowers were different than the neighbors. I’d joke about the amazon as sunflowers in their yard looked down from their perch in the sky.
Now, those things bring me comfort. Strolling through large flower or vegetable gardens takes me back to summers at my grandparents. It reminds me that a little dirt under the finger nails and putting in the time each day means reaping rewards.
A recent trip to my parent’s house, I brought my macro lens to photograph the roses my mom worked for years to get to bloom. I love how different things can look so close, the textures can change & even the bees look friendly with their little yellow fuzzy coats.
