I was 8 years old at the time, but I can still remember the day we all helped them move from the tiny yellow house that my mom grew up in to the big white house on the hill 252 miles away. Grandpa retired and wanted to get Grandma out of the stifling refinery district of Texas City and into cleaner, fresher air.
They moved to Madisonville; too far to go any time I wanted to. Where once it would only take 20 minutes to go help Grandpa in his garden, it now took 2 ½ long, grueling hours that seemed an eternity to me.

My Grandpa and I spent great amounts of time together in his garden. He taught me so many things; patience, how to cultivate the roots of a plant, and to be kind to everyone and everything. When time came for us to go home the weekend we moved them, he took me to the yard off to the side of their new house and walked the perimeter of what was to be his new garden with me. He said, “Don’t be sad, Little Red.” He told me that this change was going to be a good thing for Gra'ma and her asthma and we would be able to take care of a much larger garden now.
We talked about how he was going to clear the multitude of overgrown trees and brush from the lot and plant his new garden, one that would grow and change just like we would because we all had a bigger space. Still, it was hard to leave him there, with no garden to tend and without me to help him tend it.

As the years went on and I got older, the distance and my school activities caused us to spend less and less time together but the first thing Gran'pa and I would do each time I would go visit was check the garden. We would walk around the entire perimeter that seemed to grow larger and larger with each visit and I would listen as he told me in his slow, patient way of all the different vegetables, herbs and flowers he had planted or harvested since I was there last.

One morning my senior year of high school I woke up with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach; I knew something had happened. We held Grandpa’s memorial service in the middle of his garden, in an area he made for us with benches to sit on and talk. As I sat there listening to the pastor talk about what a great man my Grandpa was I looked all around me at the beautiful, calming environment he had created and recalled what he had told me that day we moved them to this new place; “Don’t be sad, Little Red, grow and change just like our garden, we all have a bigger space now.”

The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by Laura P. (jeaneyp1227)

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IONE L. (zaneygraylady) - 4/17/2007 4:37 PM ET

beautiful story thanks for sharing

Margaret S. (morgan2010) - 4/17/2007 5:04 PM ET

Nice story. I have heard it many times before, from the grown children of patience, as they wait for their parents to come out of their appointments. I would like you to write another chapter just about your grandfather and his garden, the flowers, the way he dug the dirt up, how grandmaw felt about the garden. Just a suggestion. I will watch for your next story. I am about 6 stories down from you. I am morgan2010. I can;t recall my title becasue it didn;t like it and asked I needd a new title, its sound nutty, but it is in the titel. Please, if possible take the time to read my story. All comments are wwelcome. Thanks.

Margaret S. (morgan2010) - 4/17/2007 5:04 PM ET

Brenda W. - 4/19/2007 12:34 AM ET

a very moving story

Comments 1 to 4 of 4

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The Eclectic Pen - Grandpa's Garden

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