Last weekend I headed South, along with my wife, to pick up a few things from my grandmas house. My grandma, who is pushing close to a century in age, is a spry old Mexican woman who’s picture should be in the dictionary of common vernacular under the term “green thumb”. For as long as I can remember she has had the most amazing garden I have ever seen. She could, I believe, take anything, put it in the ground, and make it grow.
The visit was bittersweet, however, as my grandma is moving from her home Northward, onto my parents property. It’s great knowing that she will be so close by, as I don’t get to see her very often, but its also sad because the house she is in is very special to everyone in the family. You see, her husband, my grandpa, built the house from the ground up with is two hands. Unfortunately he died in a freak accident shortly after I was born, so that I don’t even remember him, but there are pictures of him holding me. Afterward my grandma floated around to a couple of other places here and there, an apartment, a mobile home park, etc., until returning to the home her husband built and where she raised her family, namely my mom along with her sister and two brothers. She told me that at one point she knew she had to come back because “It was the last place I ever saw my husband while he was alive.”, and she missed it. She also says she asked God what she was supposed to do there and He told her, “Garden, Rachael, just go garden.”, and she did.
I spent the majority of my childhood in that house, wreaking havoc alongside my female cousin. The backyard includes a sizeable concrete foundation that held the small, single bedroom home the family lived in while my grandpa built the house. My grandma said, “It was small, but it was our home and I liked it.”. How 180 is that from todays thinking about the size of homes?
Aside from that, enjoy some pictures of her garden. An oasis in the middle of the city:
All pictures snapped on my Nokia phone.