Not riches, not fame (well, maybe infamy from his homemade moonshine and bootlegging days), not acres of farmland, no gilded possessions . . .
No, what my ancestors left behind was a garden.
This winter I have been visiting my grandmother’s garden, on the great plains of Minnesota, in my mind. I nap in her ancient asparagus patch, pick apples from one of her many trees, gorge on raspberries, climb her mulberry tree. Hers was a garden that had to feed eight people–her days decreed by what was ripe and needed to be harvested and canned. Her rhythms were those of soil, sun and rain. Her focus: peas and beans and all manner of growing things, children included.
Her garden fed me. She usually ended a visit by handing me a jar of dill or watermelon pickles, or a bottle of her homemade dandelion or rhubarb wine. On forty-degree-below-zero days (yes, you read that right: -40 degrees), I’ve known the thrill of biting into her crunchy dill pickles. A miracle in a jar.
She and my grandfather created the next generation of gardeners. All six of her children are gardeners and many of her grandchildren, too. Generous with her knowledge, she shared what she knew with anyone.
What she left behind tells you everything about my grandmother.
When she and my grandfather died and the house and land were sold, the new owner leveled most of that garden. After I got over the shock of its destruction, I wondered: does it matter if we create a garden that is destined to be destroyed?
I like to think a raspberry shoot or two found a way to survive, but …
I know this: she left behind generations of gardeners and I’m still trying to perfect her watermelon pickles.
Learn the many benefits of gardening.
https://www.health.harvard.edu/staying-healthy/gardening-may-bring-a-harvest-of-health-benefits