The Gardeners' History

The Gardeners' History

      It is early in the morning, I get out of bed and pull on the shorts and shirt I had left lying on the floor. I creep through the house, my bare feet knowing which noisy spots to avoid, step softly, quietly across the hall to the kitchen. I give a longing look towards the icebox but knowing that I am not allowed to help myself, keep moving. The back door, left open by my father when he went to work, lets in a stream of light that makes the air dance. Here is real magic and now I have prof,  I have seen fairy dust! 

 

      I stand for a long moment lost in the amazement of the pure good luck that I am the only one awake in the house. My mother is in her room with the baby and my brothers and sisters are still asleep. My hand rests on the cool metal handle of the screen door. I lean my forehead against the wire, the metallic smell distinct and alluring. I run my tongue over its surface, delighting in its strange taste. I press my nose into the screen feeling its pattern against my skin. All bumpy like scales on the legs of a chicken. I think I am a chicken shut up in my coop! If I push slowly enough there will be no squeak to wake the others. Stepping out into the porch, I turn to hold the door and let it close one inch at a time.

      Success! Aren’t I a smart little girl! I am free! I hop. I run. I jump! The grass still wet with dew tickles and delights my feet. My feet are happy. I spin and look into the sky, even the blue and white fluffy clouds are happy! My dog Boots stretches and yawns then begins to lick my face as I pull on his ears. He loves me. I climb into his doghouse and sit looking out past the swing set, the cloths line, and the shade tree to the far edge of our yard. The straight lines of our garden rows seem to go on and on. Is it a mile to our neighbors fields? The trees look so tiny. I wonder if tiny little people live under them in their tiny little houses? I get up and go to find out. 

 

      But first, won't Daddy be surprised! I am going to hoe my row all by myself! I know how to be careful to not go too deep so I don't hurt the roots of the baby plants. And I know how to tell the difference between the weeds and the plants I have been entrusted to protect. I know where to stand so that my toes will not be too near the sharp hoe and where to hold its wooden handle so that it does not flop around wildly. I know how to do a good job. It is 1955 and I am 5 years old.

      This is one of my favorite childhood memories. The images do not fade, but remain crisp and as clear as that first day when I found out I could choose to go out and do the work I loved. I would be a gardener the rest of my life.