My Father's Gardens

Homage to Dad

by Jena Sanders

As the long, cold winter months give way to warmer and slightly longer days, new life emerges.  Any among us who have ever gardened begin to feel the itch of planning for the new season.  Whether space permits only a few potted plants on the back porch, or we have a whole acre devoted to sowing seeds and planting, our efforts are rewarded by reaping fruits brought forth from our labour.

As springtime looms in the not so distant future, the comig spring is a bittersweet time.  This is the first year without my beloved father, who was and will remain forever in my heart as "The World's Best Gardener (and Dad)."

Dad and his helpers, Wright, Jack and Weaver

Like Thomas Jefferson, my father advocated an agrarian society; a community subsiding primarily by agriculture:  defined as the science, art and practice of farming; concerned with cultivating land, raising crops, and feeding, breeding, raising livestock and families. My father was an agriculturist; an artist, scientist and practitioner of farming.  By God's grace he was able to become an excellent one.

Dad tending his annual Asparagus, Blackberry bushes on the left.

As long as I can remember, my father enjoyed gardening.  I was born and lived my first two years of my life on a farm.  Our family would move 12 times thru seven states.  Residing in cities, suburbs, or rural country, my father would, while still working a full-time government job, make time to plant and tend a garden.  The gardens would range in size and in produce depending on where we were living at the time.  There always was a garden.   There was never an excuse for him not to have one, although there were plenty of excuses my siblings and i had to get out of the gardening chores.  Picking up rocks from the soil, and pulling weeds, someone has to do it, fun times or not.  And, besides, that's what children are for, little helpers, no? :)

Jack in the Beanstalks

As my father worked in the soil, he approached the gates of heaven in a communion of sorts.  There exists an intimate metaphor between God and the earth from which He made man and man's own creative work in the soil.

Mom and her three grandsons, Will, Jack and Rett

For my father, whether or not he fully understood the full effect of his actions, was able to nourish the ones he loved the most with more than just physical nourishment.  By his blood, sweat, tears and loving energy he provided nourishment for our souls.

 Rett enjoying fresh English peas off the vine.

By my dad showing us how to cultivate the land, he cultivated our minds; forever shaping the way we think and the way we strive to live.

 Community Garden Night '10

During the past three years, we (my three other siblings, my mom, husband and my three sons) wanted to help in his endeavors and established a family gardening night (after work hours).  This past year we had additional help from friends interested in learning gardening skills.  On these garden evenings we would come to be his helper bees, whether in the fields or inside preserving the harvest by canning.  We worked for several hours into the darkening evening, often sweaty, tired and dirty.  Together we rejoiced at the supper table for God's gracious provisions, sharing a meal freshly picked from the garden.

Simple, nutritious meal (for the boys)--Homegrown Sausage & Fresh Veggies

This year our garden will be quite different.  We amateurs trying to produce the beautiful majesty that was Dad's garden is a tremendous challenge.  But, as my father strove to provide the loving nourishment found uniquely by the fruit of one's own labour, we too, shall continue on.  Picturing my father cultivating a perfect garden within the gates of heaven, looking down on his legacy, I pray our efforts will be blessed.