Such a pretty pleasant day it is. Bright clear sunshine. A few Clorox white clouds hang on the the sky’s clothesline. Cool breeze, just strong enough to coax a quiet yard symphony from the wind chimes. Was thinking if it’s this beautiful here on Earth it must be glorious in heaven this morning. Chief always said heaven was just an extension of earth. He thought he’d continue to garden and I’d continue making biscuits and homemade jelly.

I can just see him and my daddy in their gardens in heaven. Each one taking a break, their large calloused suntanned hands folded over the end of their hoes. Daddy in a long sleeved shirt, old white farm hat on his head, wiping his brow on his shirt sleeve. Chief in his garden, shirtless and tanned, his sweaty t-shirt hanging in the brush nearby. He’d be wiping his brow on a red clay stained handkerchief, one that needed a good Cloroxing. His blue jeans would be slipped down from sweat enough to see some skin that wasn’t kissed by the sun.

Daddy’s garden would be pristine! Long even rows, beautiful vegetables and corn growing tall in the hot sun, no grass between the rows. A little Seven dust sprinkled around. Chief would have a little grass here and there, some turnip green and collard plants he had let go to seed to save for the next year. He loved to bring me a bouquet of those blooms mixed with wildflowers. He’d have lots of card-table size garden plots with short rows. The county drug helicopter always thought his plots were growing marijuana. No Sevin dust on his plants. Chief would just patiently pick the bugs off his garden plants.

Daddy would have the traditional vegetable garden. Yellow crooked-neck squash, silver queen and truckers’ favorite corn, blue lake pole beans, Big Boy tomatoes, cabbage, colored butter beans, zucchini, purple bull peas, okra, eggplants, peppers, cucumbers, onions, zucchini, and red potatoes. That’s all I remember, but I’m sure my brothers could add a few more vegetables. They planted and worked the garden every summer till they married. Daddy would always have a row or two of peanuts, too. Chief would have traditional vegetables but he’d sprinkle in Chinese cabbage, patty pan squash, Brussel sprouts, white eggplants, English cucumbers, peaches and cream corn, purple potatoes, kale, and different colored tomatoes.

I’d always nag him telling him to just plant what we knew we liked to eat. He just couldn’t resist some of the interesting vegetables he saw perusing his seed catalogs. I’d tease him and say he just enjoyed watching things grow. He did and so do I. He always wanted me to come see how beautiful the potatoes were when the plants filled out their rows.

The last time I helped daddy in the garden we planted 120 broccoli plants together. He’d walk the rows digging the holes and I’d plant the broccoli. He’d stop and rest his hands on the hoe handle waiting for me to catch up to him. When we were through he rode to the creek twice, coming back holding a ten gallon bucket of water out the window of the truck so we could water the plants. I bet his arm and shoulder hurt him that night. We planted a row of garbanzo beans that day, too, but they never came up. He had eaten them from the salad bar in a restaurant and loved them. Guess that’s the only thing he ever planted that didn’t flourish. Bet Chief could grow them!

That was Daddy’s last garden. He had a heart attack at the kitchen table in early July of that year and passed away. I like to think I’ve inherited his green thumb. My garden in the large farm pots is doing well. I’ve got some baseball size tomatoes and lots of baby yellow squash coming along. Have a few tiny cucumber and oodles of cucumber blooms. My cantaloupe is starting to bloom. The sunflowers and zinnias are growing in an ocean of grass.

The spring of Rosie’s death I had the most beautiful garden. I poured all my grief and heartache into that little kitchen garden and it flourished. Working in the Earth’s soil is so therapeutic. Watching a seed sprout and grow and then produce is so exciting. The wonders of nature are so beautiful!

“Imagine your mind like a garden and your thoughts are the seeds. You get to choose what seeds you plant in it. You can plant seeds of positivity, love, and abundance. Or you can plant seeds of negativity, fear, and lack. You can spend time trying to take care of everyone else’s garden. Or you can work on making yours beautiful and attract other beautiful people to your garden,” Jake Woodard.

“He who plants a garden plants happiness.” — Chinese Proverb