Monday, July 16, 2012

My Father's Garden


We're coming to the end
of the peas and beans:
they ripened early
in a grand fanfare
so perfectly perfect
crisp and sweet.

My father liked to garden:
our yard was lush with peonies and roses
corn, tomatoes, beans, peas and cucumbers.

He liked to lean down and smell a yellow rose
on his way to weed the rows
He liked to lift a tomato to his nose
and smell its warm ripeness.

My small garden honors him
just as the homemade pasta sauce
I ladle into my mother's bowl honors her.

Is there something you make or do
that owes its origins to your parents?

xx




9 comments:

  1. Strawberries bring my father back to me. I remember his excitement about baskets of strawberries in the spring each time I am picking, slicing, or preparing them.

    Your poem speaks such love. Thanks for sharing the beauty of your family story.

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  2. Gardening, yes that. And making long simmering beef and chicken broths that form the base of all my tasty soups. Every time I make them, I think of my mom and the good kitchen smells her bone broths made.

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  3. De très jolis mots qui me ramènent à mon enfance dans la maison de mes grand-parents... Mon grand-père avait un si beau jardin...

    Gros bisous.

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  4. Some ways to cook, some ways to talk, some special words used; And the perfume of my grand-mother..

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  5. We carry on these traditions and their symbolism to honor. My problem: what to keep; what to throw?

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  6. love this poem. still thinking about your question.

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  7. i have a glass dish on my dresser that holds a beetle brooch and a rock shaped like a heart. these things remind me of my mother.

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  8. Grandma Thompson's pickled beets. Beautiful to look at and tantalizing to the tongue. Anytime I see beets I think about how much I loved to visit my grandma in Missouri and eat her pickled beets.

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  9. Merci de ton commentaire chez moi. Le survol de ton blog me laisse voir que tu as bien d'autres talents que moi! Savoir écrire n'est pas donné à tout le monde! Bonne fin de semaine.

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