My grandfather, called Bampi because I could not say grandpa and I was the first grandchild, taught all of us about gardens. About the taste of baby cucumbers, warm from the sun and fresh off the plant. About the sweetness of tomatoes, plucked and eaten like apples. About good dirt and the right amount of water.
One of the first things I did when I bought this house seven years ago, was plan and plant a garden. It was a straw bale garden and it grew squash and tomatoes, cucumbers and green beans. I planted a bare-root rosebush that now climbs a trellis next to my office window and offers up yellow blooms edged with red. I planted three lilac bushes, two of which survived and one that has given blooms for four years. The other should bloom next year - I hope.
Peonies and hydrangeas, day lilies and irises brought in trash bags from my mom's house and planted on the hillside - dug from bulbs she had been given by Bampi and Nana from their house - the house my mother grew up in that Bampi had built with his own hands. Bampi and Nana have been gone many years now, but what they planted? That still grows.
These North Carolina mountains may be a world removed from my New England roots and that little house in Connecticut, but some of those roots transplanted beautifully...as did I.
I think it’s safe to say that for our generation, gardening has been a major influence. My paternal grandparents were homesteaders in northern Alberta and always had a vegetable garden. My parents raised us on an acreage and I remember there always being a vegetable garden there, too. And homegrown vegetables tastes SO much better than store-bought. So, when I was looking for a setting to work with for this story, the garden seemed to fit like a glove!
Thanks for sharing, Kess! And for reading. I’m glad you enjoyed it. There’s lots more to come.
The opening of this story threw me back to my childhood. My parents bought my Grandfather’s house and inherited the Concord grapes, currants, gooseberries, rhubarb rows , and an old apple tree. Plus the large vegetable garden. What your story really made me remember was my dad’s story about how grandpa always said sweet soil grew the best vegetables. I always thought that meant he must have tasted the soil. Maybe he did. When the onions were ready, grandpa brought out a knife and a slice or two of bread with him to the garden. A thick slab of warm just pulled onion completed his sandwich. Which I have to say did not sound delicious to me.
Oh, my heart.
My grandfather, called Bampi because I could not say grandpa and I was the first grandchild, taught all of us about gardens. About the taste of baby cucumbers, warm from the sun and fresh off the plant. About the sweetness of tomatoes, plucked and eaten like apples. About good dirt and the right amount of water.
One of the first things I did when I bought this house seven years ago, was plan and plant a garden. It was a straw bale garden and it grew squash and tomatoes, cucumbers and green beans. I planted a bare-root rosebush that now climbs a trellis next to my office window and offers up yellow blooms edged with red. I planted three lilac bushes, two of which survived and one that has given blooms for four years. The other should bloom next year - I hope.
Peonies and hydrangeas, day lilies and irises brought in trash bags from my mom's house and planted on the hillside - dug from bulbs she had been given by Bampi and Nana from their house - the house my mother grew up in that Bampi had built with his own hands. Bampi and Nana have been gone many years now, but what they planted? That still grows.
These North Carolina mountains may be a world removed from my New England roots and that little house in Connecticut, but some of those roots transplanted beautifully...as did I.
I think it’s safe to say that for our generation, gardening has been a major influence. My paternal grandparents were homesteaders in northern Alberta and always had a vegetable garden. My parents raised us on an acreage and I remember there always being a vegetable garden there, too. And homegrown vegetables tastes SO much better than store-bought. So, when I was looking for a setting to work with for this story, the garden seemed to fit like a glove!
Thanks for sharing, Kess! And for reading. I’m glad you enjoyed it. There’s lots more to come.
The opening of this story threw me back to my childhood. My parents bought my Grandfather’s house and inherited the Concord grapes, currants, gooseberries, rhubarb rows , and an old apple tree. Plus the large vegetable garden. What your story really made me remember was my dad’s story about how grandpa always said sweet soil grew the best vegetables. I always thought that meant he must have tasted the soil. Maybe he did. When the onions were ready, grandpa brought out a knife and a slice or two of bread with him to the garden. A thick slab of warm just pulled onion completed his sandwich. Which I have to say did not sound delicious to me.
Glad you liked it Kathy! There is MUCH more to come.
I have to admit, I like raw onion in sandwiches, on burgers, even in salads. Don’t know if I could eat it like you described your grandpa did.