The Covid-19 pandemic is well into it’s 6th month and looks like it’s going to be around for another 6 before we can get a vaccine for it. I haven’t sat next to my mother in all that time, sadly because she lives less that 6 minutes away. On the upside, she’s finally participating in many of the activities that the assisted living facility offers. “I won at Bingo!” she announced during our call yesterday.
Like so many, I’ve taken up gardening this summer. Tomatoes, peppers, squash, basil, mint and every other herb known to grow well in Georgia’s hot summer sun. My wife, Kim has already used many in her daily cooking. Salsa Frita, Chile Rellenos, Kimchi, Caprese and thyme and tarragon stuffed red snapper just to name a few from the past week.
There’s something to be said about the calming effect and sense of anticipation that a little garden brings. And evidently I am not the only one to have discovered this nugget of survival during times of duress. Victory gardens are a necessity of survival during war, but they also bring peace to those who plant and tend them. Many have said that this COVID 19 pandemic is a war of sorts. Because of this, good plants, pots and fertilizers are currently nowhere to be found. The shelves of the outdoor and gardening centers resemble grocery store paper product aisles. Empty. Tomato stakes and Viva paper towels are both unobtainium in today’s world.
I suspect my father got a lot of pleasure from his gardening. The dark, rich soil of the Champlain Valley pushed up and out everything from garlic, onions, potatoes, corn, green beans, English peas, along with tomatoes and peppers during its short growing season. I remember being amazed at the size of his squash and pumpkins he’d wheelbarrow out of the garden.
Today there’s hardly any evidence of the large garden plot that dad kept for so many years behind the house. He plowed it under, leveled it and planted grass. I remember being concerned that he abruptly stopped gardening, fearing at that time that it was a sign of his impending demise.
Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. He lived at least another 10 years, driving his rider mower over the new lawn he had created. Later I realized that the destruction of the garden happened at the same time my cousins sold the house upon the hill that used to belong to my Uncle Ted. My dad’s garden was on his deceased brother’s property! When it sold to a third party, he quickly erased it. It also was about this time that my father’s attention turned to growing flowers in front of his house, on his property. And as I have said before, he grew a lot. Gladiolus, Stargazers, Chrysanthemums, Lilies, Dahlias, Crocus, you name it, he grew it.
They’re all gone now. Every now and then one tough bulb that made it through the winter may pop up as a faint reminder of what used to be.
Hopefully the current contract on the house will close. The money will help my mother continue to live in worry-free comfort around the corner from my home. We all can’t wait to be able to go out to lunch together again. Maybe go for a Sunday drive up in the mountains. There’s parts of North Georgia that resemble the Adirondacks. I know she’d love that.
Galen Edward Bigelow 