Why I Garden?
Three little words arranged into one short question opens up a world of memory for me. Why I garden? As I think about my love for digging in the soil, I realize even dream-like and fleeting experiences have become deeply imprinted on my mind. People, places, aromas, songs, the way our family lived as part of the land—if I dissect my memories, these glimpses of my life add up to a love of nature and gardening.
Why I garden?
Because one of my earliest memories is of the apple orchard on the home place. My great-grandmother took me for walks when the air was filled with the smell of blossoms and later when fruit hung heavy on the trees.
Because Lona Crews grew bearded irises in velvety colors around her farmhouse.
Because old homestead sites around Mississippi County, long abandoned and vacant of structures, still offer clumps of daffodils in spring and surprise lilies in late summer.
Because soil and seeds and crop rotation were regular topics of conversation at our supper table.
Because the supper table included something grown from soil that doubled as our playground—green onions and garden tomatoes, chow-chow canned by a great-aunt, sliced cucumbers and white onions soaking up vinegar.
Because my sister and I had spring picnics under the plum tree and ate our fill of cherries in June.
Because we baked mud pies on hot days and climbed trees barefoot and made racetracks in the field for our rusty matchbox cars.
Because looking for four-leaf clovers was a favorite pastime; clover necklaces and bracelets the result.
Because Aunt Virgie grew wild strawberries and kept chickens and had a most fascinating corn shucker in the barn.
Because Nana grew irises and roses and walked with us to the back corner of the field to see what wildflowers were growing on the ditch bank.
Because the ditches were filled with tadpoles and butterflies were plentiful all around our house.
Because on rainy days, we stomped around in mud puddles; on flooded days, we swam in the backyard with our Barbies; on snowy days we made snow angels in the front yard and explored the fields with brand new eyes.
Because a single rose bush at the end of the driveway generously provided perfect pink buds in time for the Mother’s Day service at Brinkley Chapel.
Because black-eyed susans grew wild on the Ozark roadsides, welcoming us back to the lake.
Because Uncle Rex could stick his thumb in the ground and sprout an entire garden of azaleas.
Why I Garden?
Because I chopped cotton one summer and learned the difference between weed and seedling.
Because of lightning bugs and star-filled summer skies.
Because entire afternoons could be spent listening to stories while aunts and cousins shelled peas.
Because of Frances Hodgson Burnett.
Because Momma planted flower bulbs and vegetable seeds and dragged the water hose all around the house to water them.
Because of the pecan trees in our yard and the cactus on Nana’s carport.
Because a magic carpet of moss grew between the stones in front of our house.
Because the nearby Mississippi River provided a constant reminder of life.
Because I made thousands of wishes on dandelions, many of which have come true.
Because angels walk among the blossoms and blooms. And I can always find myself there.
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“Gardening is akin to writing stories. No experience could have taught me more about grief or flowers, about achieving survival by going, your fingers in the ground, the limit of physical exhaustion.” ―
So tell me, why do you garden?
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
P.S. Last week marked the 48th year anniversary of Carole King’s Tapestry album.
Absolutely lovely writing!
Ohhhh, thank you!
Ditto. Even though I was a city kid, we went to my grandparents farm up in the Missouri bootheel every weekend. I found those crawdads in the ditch, always played with their farm dogs, picked cotton into a metal bucket,was allowed to go into Granny’s fruit closet to open a jar of pickles, or freezer dive for her wonderful frozen strawberries or peaches for a wonderful sweet snack. That sweet tooth of mine always kicked in . If her special cake was gone, I was allowed to take a leftover biscuit from breakfast and smear it with fresh churned butter and then sprinkle cinnamon sugar over it.
Last week we drove to Colonial Williamsburg for lunch. Months ago we bought a very large special Surreyanno hamhock. at the Edwards Ham Shop. It was so large that they had to cut it in half. Since it was so large and so expensive, I had hidden it in the back of the freezer. I was making a big batch of beans when I remembered that hamhock. When I opened that vacuum sealed freezer bag, I got a whiff of that smoked ham. Suddenly, I was a kid again. I was back at the farm near Pascola and I could smell Granddad’s smoked ham being brought out of the smokehouse. You just reawakened a lot of memories for me this morning. I threw those leftover beans into a huge pot of chili. My grandmother considered wasting food to be a sin.
Thanks for sharing your memories with us Sharon!
Your piece is exquisitely memory-provoking. I grew up along the Mississippi River, but much farther south, just before you left Arkansas to either Mississippi or Louisiana. We had a grocery store; still I had a garden at the end of the “concrete slab”, which is what we called the parking area outside the garage. I raised every kind of vegetable I could get seeds for. Daddy was a big help by having someone till it for me. Mamaw and Papaw had the best garden in El Dorado, maybe, in all of South Arkansas. There was a peanut patch, a watermelon patch and the most awesome vegetable garden ever. We shelled peas and butter beans on the patio that went straight to the kitchen for supper. The front flower beds were full of zinnias and hydrangeas.
Wow, thank you for that trip and helping me remember why I garden.
My pleasure! Thanks for sharing your story as well!
Beautiful words Talya! You do bring back childhood memories of my grandma’s grape vines growing along the sidewalk to her back door, and of her peach tree orchard. I think about Tom’s aunt who grew nothing but flowers in her entire back yard and I still have some of her iris bulbs growing in my yard as well as her peonies. On the humorous side, I now garden for the deer, raccoons, groundhogs, chipmunks and other critters that roam our land.
I love that you have family iris. I do too! We garden for the deer and armadillo… Everybody got to eat!
Beautiful! And now you’ve awakened the sleeping giant of delusional garden dreaming; thoughts of “go ahead, rent out a community garden plot” are beginning to form even though I thought I’d be ok with a raised bed veggie trug. PS seed packets and grow tub arrived yeaterday and I gathered a small variety of lichen to make a tiny little terrarium with a little lichen covered stick and a few pretty rocks?
Beautiful! You brought back memories of my daddy’s flowerbeds, plum and pecan trees, and backyard garden. I know he would have been a farmer if circumstances had allowed it. I shelled lots of peas with my mother and aunts and ate tomatoes warm from the garden. Although I can’t pretend to do much more than plant, pray, and weed occasionally, I sure enjoy our flowers. And I feel my daddy close by when I’m working in them.
That was beautiful! You brought back so many memories of my sweet mama and all her beautiful flowers! Her backyard full of iris and so many rose bushes! She could plant a stick and a flower would bloom! Lol Thanks for the memories!
Thank you so much. I’m glad you could relate.