His hands have toiled every square inch of the tiny back yard, coaxing an ever changing array of vegetation from each nook and cranny. Throughout childhood I nursed a secret garden fantasy (a la Frances Hodgson Burnett) gazing into and playing in that yard. My sister and I shared a room that looked into the garden and dad purposely chose the most fragrant rose bush to plant under our window. The man is 81 and he still describes his plants with bright, open enthusiasm. Now that I have my own garden to tend, I aim to channel some of his instinct and deep sense of wonder while I move amongst the leaves and flowers.
Awww!
ReplyDeleteYeah, me and gardening, not so much... I take on Dad's wonder in goldfish. and Mom's no-care-needed bamboo.
Great pics! Somehow they have that nostalgic tint to them, like Dad's old pics of us in the little plot of yard/garden at Ave. 39. Must be the afternoon light...
your dad has such beautiful hands. this is a great post! xoxo
ReplyDeleteLove the jars of dried bits of odd and ends…herbs and such I'm assuming? :)
ReplyDeleteLois! I think they're seeds he's cultivated from his plants for future planting. Hope all is well!
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