Walking The Garden

One of my favorite things to do with you during those early years was walking with you to our little garden. Everything seemed to quiet down as we performed this nearly nightly ritual. We would put Lisa into her stroller and leave our apartment, your studies, my housework and most of our busy lives behind, and walk ever so slowly to our garden. Slowly, because we wanted to savor every minute of the cool evening air and the beautiful orange and purple sunsets. I remember walking past each of the little gardens, noticing how one neighbor’s corn was growing well, and another neighbor’s weeds had taken over. With so much anticipation I walked, wondering, “Did our garden survive the night? Are the weeds under control? Are things growing? And Did anyone take that cucumber I am looking forward to eating?” We’d get up to our garden and just stand there staring. We’d notice that the little irrigation ditches you put in to make sure everything was getting water were seemingly quite effective. The plants were rich in color and producing well. The pests seemed to be staying away, and amazingly no one had raided our little vegetables. I can still smell the fresh air of those evenings. I can still hear the calming quiet of a field of gardens. I can still feel the warmth of your hand as it gently grabs hold of mine signaling, “I guess we’d better be getting back,” as we would slowly turn, and tear ourselves from our little garden, and head back to our busy life.