Friday, March 16, 2012
"What are we planting this year?" I called out to my brother.
When we were growing up, each summer brought with it the chore of helping in the garden. My three brothers and I would plant and water and weed and harvest. My daddy would till the soil with a hand held plow. It was hard work for him. He grew all sorts of vegetables, but at the end of each row, he always planted sunflowers. As a little girl, I loved those huge, happy yellow flowers more than anything in that garden!
Even when my daddy was getting older, that garden kept him busy; it gave him purpose. He loved going outside and getting his hands in the soil and seeing what he could grow in the red clay of our back yard. He was a master at coaxing life from the seeds he planted and nurturing those seedlings into piles of vegetables that mama and I canned or froze as a defense against the dark, bland days of winter. A vibrant yellow sunflower would always come inside with the harvest--a beautiful offering of love from my daddy to my mama.
"This year, I'm going to plant some sunflowers."