Hawthorn Hill

May 01, 2008 12:43 pm

— By RICHARD J. deROSA

First Garden

Two days ago, my granddaughter Isadora and I spent a lovely hour planting her garden — her first. It is just down the hill from her birth tree, planted on the occasion of her birth almost four Septembers ago. We were out “perusing” the gardens together this morning and, of course, had to check her garden first to see if anything had popped up out of the ground. A few weeds, undoubtedly nourished by last night’s much needed rain, had sprouted. I pointed out that it takes vegetables a bit longer than a few days to germinate, but that did not dampen her enthusiasm at all.

We talked on the telephone the other day about her pending visit and about her garden. I asked her what she would like to plant. It is a small plot, an eight-foot square raised bed, so I reminded her that we could not be too ambitious. Her first choice was fennel. I just happened to have some seed on hand, I told her, so we certainly could plant that. We decided to make her final decisions when we actually grabbed our trowels and the steel toolbox I now store seeds in and headed for her garden. I have kept seeds for the garden for years in an antique wooden toolbox and not had any problems. It is the open variety, so there is no protection against rodent depredations. Last fall someone had quite a feast or two or three nibbling away at the leftovers I had hoped to use this year, thus saving a bit of cash. Lesson learned: make no assumptions about longterm rodent habits.

I had a wonderful time several weeks ago talking to the Healthy Planet kids at the elementary school about the planned school garden and organic gardening generally. They asked what seeds we would plant. I asked them what their favorite vegetables might be. The unanimous first choice was cucumbers. So I was not at all surprised when my granddaughter insisted that in addition to fennel, we just had to plant cucumbers. I love cucumbers too. When they are ready to be picked, I often snap off a few, pull out a carrot or two, perhaps a tomato, and make my lunch right there in the garden. But if asked to pick the one or two vegetables that kids might like to plant, and then eat, I doubt if cucumbers would have made the first short list.

Fennel is not an obvious first choice either. I guess my granddaughter has a very sophisticated palate. I suspect it has a lot to do with a very devoted mother who makes sure she eats healthy foods and is exposed to a wider variety of greens and fruits than most kids have a natural tolerance for. As they say, start developing those good habits when they are young. The fennel seeds went into the ground first. I showed her how to make a furrow with the trowel, but she preferred to use her hand, which is often my method of choice as well. I then poured some seed into the palm of my cupped hand and she picked out a few at a time and sprinkled them as evenly as she could along the length of the furrow. I then showed her how to fold the ridge of soil on each side of the furrow over the seeds. I then demonstrated how to tamp the earth down lightly. I think she enjoyed the feel of the soil in her hands as much as anything. That is a pleasure we share — and one that any gardener will attest to.

We followed the same procedure when planting all the seeds. We planted sunflowers next, then cucumbers, parsley, carrots, and beans. We made markers with Popsicle sticks. Then came perhaps the best part: standing back and admiring our work. She looked up at me and said, “I have a nice garden, don’t I?” Yup, I said, very, very proudly. I also promised to take very good care of the garden until her next visit. After gathering up our tools and seeds, we took a tour of the gardens, stopping on our way back to the house to check out Isadora’s birth tree. She kneeled down, pretended to read the marker at its base that proclaims its reason for being, and said, “That is my tree, isn’t it?” We agreed that it is a very beautiful tree indeed. On the way up the hill, we picked some daffodils for mother and grandmother.

I walked several feet behind her, marveling at the lovely incandescent innocence of youth, of the enduring patterns and promises that it represents. I did not feel old at all.

I just felt very lucky to be that alive at that moment with a beautiful granddaughter who filled me with such deep currents of joy that will wash up upon the shores of my soul forever.

Later on, when we were sitting on the deck watching night fall, Isadora looked up at her mother and said, “Let’s act out.” Hand in hand, mother and daughter ran down the hill together, their night dance punctuated with laughter. There is reason for hope after all.