I have this tiny garden. It is Spring. This is the start for the year. Brrrr.
This is this gardens second year.
Last year was a fun time. I planted tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, green beans, some petunias and a couple roses. A tea Rose named Beverly and a climber named Norwegian Queen.
it wasn’t a robust garden but it was fun watching it grow and caring for it. It was a memory maker and reminder. You see, my family home, the place I was raised, was known for its futile soil.
The reason. In the 1800s a cattle rancher owned the land at the base of a mountain in this area. He supplied beef for the nearby fort. After the fort closed the acreage got sold off and because of what the ground once did the soil was extremely futile. Gardens became the main application and the area became renowned.
Years later my Dad and Mom were able to purchase a home there and maintain a garden. This garden supported a family of six with food stuffs for years. It flourished. We flourished.
Growing up in this area was beyond blessed but telling of those years, that would take days, years for me to describe. This blog could not hold it all.
However, I do want to continue to tell you about the garden, in part. At least I will attempt to tell you my part.
Everyone in the family had a part to play in the garden. It was huge!
My jobs increased as I aged. I remember being little and pulling weeds. Mom would keep us out of the garden until the tender seedlings sprouted. Then she would show us what the true plants looked like and what the weeds were. We would help pull weeds around the plants while she or our Dad would hoe the rows.
As we grew we would be able to hoe the rows and weed around the plants. You all probably know that as kids this was not always counted as fun. But weed and hoe we did.
For a few years Mom allowed me to have a part of the garden for my flowers. It was four or five rows on the northeast part of the garden. It started out just for fun and maybe incentive from Mom. Over a few years it became a hobby and even helped me earn a few patches and beads for my Campfire Girl membership.
As I got older my little flower garden declined but not my chores in the big garden. It was a job of 10 rows a day. Hoeing and weeding. The incentive was if I did my gardening I could go swimming. So gardening I did. In the morning before it got too hot. And then off to swimming for the whole afternoon. Awe and ahhhh. I had a great childhood.
Jump forward ____ years. I am quite a bit older now. My husband and I live in a different places. The soil here is no where close to the soil of my youth.
When we moved here I tried to garden but we were defeated on every level. Gardening was diminished to flowers in pots and fewer and fewer by the years. Until last year.
I decided I needed to garden again. Though it is on a small scale. Tiny. The soil here is still a problem but thankfully raised beds and purchased soil is a thing.
My husband fenced in a little area, close to the back door, for me to plant a few seeds in. It needs to be fence to keep the deer out. (A few years ago when I tried this the deer came one night a destroyed my tiny garden. So, I gave up for that summer.) Last year my garden had a fence. This year my garden has a fence.
When we got the garden ready for planting last year I was flooded with so many memories of my childhood. Every thing I did in my tiny garden was accompanied by a memory. I kept seeing the huge garden of my childhood home. I was reminded of the chores. I was reminded of my Mom. Oh my goodness, the work she put into that garden!
Even with the little bit of help we kids did. It seemed like a lot back then but in reflection it was minuscule. Mom was the gardenkeeper and did everything that entailed.
I use to joke in conversation with my siblings, I would hold up my little finger. I would point at the tip of my little finger on my right hand with my left index finger. Then I would say. If I have this much of our Mom in me I know I will be o.k. in this life. And I still believe that.
And now I say that, I think that, about my tiny garden. It is like the tip of a little finger in comparison to the garden my Mom kept. That’s why I call my garden “Beverly”.
