Twenty feet feet wide. The corners and sides are all turned with a shovel sharpened.
Ninety feet long. It seemed like forever in length. The entire garden ran beside the house, from the front sidewalk, the length of the kitchen, shower and bathroom, to run even out to the trees.
The soil started to be turned the first few days of March. Grandpa in his overalls, turning one blade full at a time. A bite in the air, his breath showing, turning the ground over. Everyday that it didn't rain. Soil was red as a color could be, or dark brown, with rich fertilizer mixed with in.
First week in April there would be four rows, cut the twenty foot way, straight and string tied across and potatoes chopped in pieces with roots growing would be laid, covered up and watered down at the front.
Checking the Farmers Almanac, planting days would be spread across the end of April right to the middle of May. Weeds would turn and start to make, and Mama would be out early, dancing with the sharpened hoe making quick work of them, raking them out, each row clean. Hands turning green with stain.
Tomatoes would start as
small plants, and work their way up crooked, but tied with lines and stakes, they would make at least six rows, and Uncle Vern and Ain't Ruby would tie them up with split stakes to keep them in.
Grandpa would plant two rows of dill weed, grow it straight and tall. Give most of it away. Cucumbers would stretch from the front of the wire fence about halfway down, to the back, and their blooms would look so pretty. Back at the back of the whole thing would be okra, two feet between plants and five rows, with water and a little bit of shade.
The harvest would last until October, with things like black eyed peas, green beans, a little plot of carrots, the sweat off Daddy's head, the callouses of Ain't Ruby's hands, and the yellow squash and experimental melons would be about, growing, and made into quart and pint jars, dated on the top, the heat of the kitchen almost worse than the heat outdoors. Grandpa, born before it became a state, had polio in one leg, and he would sit in the garden, his feet in front, and push himself across, picking the low things.
Stocked again, those jars were racked out in the back, or cellar, or bedroom or kitchen pantry. Life continued for all of us. Then the garden would begin again.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Ralph Peck
Claremore, Ok/Mtn View Oklahoma
Gardens Of Dreams and Yesterday
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