On our cross-country tour, the six youngest kids and I stopped for a couple of nights at my parents' house. While we were there just a few weeks ago, a couple of changes have taken place in our absence. The deck has been restained to a nice dark oak. And my dad is babying some tomatoes from greenhorns to crimson delights.
My dad's mother was the consumate gardener. She had a huge garden in her small town in central Mississippi that provided half the county with fresh produce. She could grow hydrangeas the size of basketballs.
I have a feeling she is smiling down on her son's efforts.
And the legacy continues.
4 of 8 spent a beautiful morning helping groom the tomato plants.
She helped trim back some blossoms and inspected new fruit that was starting to emerge.
And, more importantly, my dad was helping 4 of 8 cultivate memories.
Several precious memories. Which, given enough time, will bring to harvest a rich heritage and treasured tradition.