D is for Daddy

 My father, or Daddy as I called him, passed away 12 years ago this week. He was a good man and is missed every day. He was an avid gardener, and since the garden season is upon us, I thought I would rerun this post about his gardening. 

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Daddy's Garden

For most of my life, I watched my father's garden, and I learned a lot about life as I observed him adjust to the ever-changing world around him. 

He usually had an acre or more of vegetables growing every year, and I watched as he spent hours and hours, days and days, and weeks and weeks planting the garden. He'd plant 20 rows of corn, and the crows would eat 20 rows of corn. He'd plant beans, and the rabbits would feast on the leaves. He'd plant tomatoes, and the groundhogs would take one bite out of each. And the deer—they liked EVERYTHING in the garden. 

So he put up an electric fence. That worked except for the things that could go under it, like the rabbits. Then he put up a chicken wire fence inside the electric fence to keep those critters out. And that worked except for the creatures that burrowed under the fence like groundhogs. So, he buried fencing a foot underground, which worked for the digging critters. Now, all he had left were the flying creatures. So, he put up scarecrows and shiny streamers, and that sort of worked, except for the wild turkeys. And turkeys are like the deer in that they like EVERYTHING in the garden. Turkeys are really smart, and for several years, the turkeys did more damage to his garden than all the other animals combined.

But yet he kept on. He would plant and plant again. He would hoe a row, and he would weed a row. He would stake the tomatoes and build teepees for the beans. He would fertilize, and he would carry water. And along about the middle of summer, the first of the bounty would need to be picked and picked and picked. And my father was happy. 

As time passed and the kids moved away from home, my father planted his huge gardens. He gave away most of what he grew, but he was happy. My mother finally convinced him that maybe the two of them didn't need such a large garden. It was hard, but he cut back. He adjusted just as he had when the crows ate all of his corn. And then, because of failing health, he had to move to a nursing home, and he was not sure if there would be a place to plant a garden where he was. However, he adjusted, and he was happy.

When I grow up, I want to be like my father and his gardens. I want to do things when they need to be done, just like my father did when he had to water his plants when they needed it, not just when he felt like it. I want to keep working on anything important until I get results, just like my father did when he had to plant his corn again and again. I want to adjust to changing situations just like my father did when he had to downsize his garden. And most of all, I want to find a way to be happy in any situation, just as my father did when he had to leave his garden and couldn't live at home any more.

Note: My father passed away two months after I wrote this.

Until next time...