My Father’s Garden

My father’s garden is full of life and his heart, full of passion. When my dad was laid off a few years ago, way too soon to retire in this society, I was afraid that it would be a challenge for him to keep busy and find fulfillment. I’m not sure why I felt I had anything to worry about . . . with his own hands, he had dug a pond in the front yard for the dozen coy that swam happily about, poured a concrete sidewalk around the perimeter of his yard to make taking walks easier, created his own watering system by gathering rain water in containers, laid down brick by brick a quaint little area for the fruit trees to blossom, carried pot by pot, planted shrub by shrub. Over the years, he’s grown a variety of vines, vegetables, fruit, flowers and trees that I’d never even imagined would have had a chance under the hot Texas sun.

He built this garden for my mom. I’m so proud of my father and his garden. This morning, I gathered my first harvest of lemongrass that grows in my garden. With the nurturing and care that my dad taught me, I am able to cook with ingredients that grew because of my love.