Remembering

I can't believe that it's been one year already. Today I thought of the last thing my Grandpa taught me. I was out in the garden with a pitchfork in my hand loosening the soil around the carrots so the kids could pull them up. My Grandpa taught me how to do that. That was only a few days before he passed. He had been sitting on the couch and he was tired. Even the bowl of peaches he was trying to eat was wearying him. But he was thinking of the hard work he had put into his garden that year. He told me exactly where to find the pitchfork, in his well kept wood shed. Grandpa explained how to poke the fork in around the carrots and loosen the soil just a bit... And he sent me off on a mission to see if those carrots were ready to be harvested... My Grandpa and I had always shared a love for gardening. We compared the progress of our gardens during the summer. His was weed free and the weeds growing in mine were nearly sky-high. My garden was large. His was small. His tomatoes were dying and so were mine. Our gardens gave us something in common. He was more than willing to hear about how things were growing at my house, though I was always a little nervous that he might stop by unexpected and see how I had let the weeds grow too. I thought of my Grandpa probably every time I was out there in the dirt this year. I think I tried extra hard to keep the weeds out this time. This year was the best that my garden has ever looked and I blame Grandpa for that. Even though he wasn't here to see it (and even if he could see it, I'm sure he'd be preoccupied with praising our Lord), I think my garden would've made him proud this year. Especially my "prize-winning" Brussels sprouts, which have been producing edible sprouts since July.... I can't wait to see him again.