Grandma's Garden

We packed the girls up Saturday morning for an impromptu visit to Grandma’s house; she hadn’t seen them in over a year, I wonder who was more excited. Daddy got out of bed way too early, the girls asked the whole way (2 ½ hours), "Are we there yet?" and Grandmother must have awakened at the crack of dawn—when we arrived the aroma of baking permeated the walkway.

If you walk away from my husband’s childhood house hungry it would be your own fault—Emily doesn’t call her the "Cooker Grandma" for no reason. For lunch Grandma prepared fried chicken, homemade mac-n-cheese, macaroni salad, mashed potatoes, gravy and zucchini bread. For desert she made us a fruit pudding with zucchini… I hesitated, but, once I tasted it I discovered it really was to die for. I suppose I aspire to be like my mother-in-law in the kitchen; basking in the nurturance of her children through her many kitchen creations.

After we finished this magnificent bounty, we went out to Grandma’s garden. Don’t let the concept of a grandmother gardening fool you. We harvested lettuce, red cabbage, white cabbage, red potatoes, red tomatoes, green tomatoes, green beans, sugar snap peas, green peppers, and cucumbers… the harvest was luscious and plenty. My husband jumped right in and started obeying the instructions his mother gave while Emily followed every move her grandmother made.

Sahara didn’t have much interest in the garden, but did find complete pleasure in running through an acre of land without anyone barking at her to stop or constantly reminding her of her boundaries. Her spirit was free and the land fed her soul! (The city girls still have the country innately in them that is for sure.) I think one of the things I miss about the country is the sense of freedom it offers.

I found quiet pleasure watching my husband not have a care in the world; for a day the autism seemed obsolete, computers did not need fixed, employees did not demand his time, and money was not a concern. The country air enveloped him as he educated his girls about his childhood stomping ground, including the cemetery down the lane where is father was laid to rest. The girls carefully pranced around his headstone telling their grandfather stories of a life he missed.

It was sad to leave and head back to the city. But, I presume, that if we didn’t we wouldn’t appreciate it as much as we do.