365 Days in the Garden

Gardening on a Cold and Rainy Day

Some flowers never fade, and some gifts keep on giving forever

My mother used to say my father always grew an Italian garden for us. It looked nothing like the painting above.

The gardens from my childhood typically included tomatoes, peppers, and basil. I’m pretty sure there were always some marigolds too, but I don’t think my dad knew back then that they would help repel nematodes. On the other hand, maybe he knew they helped the tomatoes grow, or perhaps he just liked the way they looked.

When I was around 15 years old, I wanted a garden.

We lived in a rented house with a huge backyard. Everything was neatly landscaped by the property owner, but my father got permission to dig up a small section of it so I could have my own garden spot.

Gardening has become an essential and central part of my life. He dug that garden for me by hand for my birthday that year and spent the spring teaching me about gardening. It was a gift I will never forget, and that has been renewed every spring, even though my father died more than 35 years ago. I wrote more about it some two years ago here:

I don’t remember if I appreciated it back then as much as I have for many decades. I was a teenager, after all, and probably more interested in cool clothes than in a patch of dirt. Yet, I remember growing my garden that year and every year after that until I left for college. Then, as soon as I had an apartment with my own little space outdoors, I started growing gardens again.

My grandson’s birthday is this week.

My granddaughter’s birthday is next month. As I buy the presents I think they want, I recall that garden bed and wonder what I can do to give them gifts that will stand the test of time the way my father’s love of gardening has lasted a lifetime for me.

The painting at the top of this article was taken at a museum we went to as a family this week. They didn’t want to go and only did it to make me happy. It’s unlikely it will be the trips to New York City and now Europe to see great works of art they will remember, even though I’ve been taking them to museums for as long as they’ve been able to walk.

Maybe those perfect gifts can’t be purchased.

Last night my grandson spent the night here, and my granddaughter was here this afternoon. I made them their favorite foods, read a book to my grandson before bed last night, and watched some videos together today. My grandson and I watched a show about creativity and another about thinking. Afterward, we talked about the shows and what we had learned. My granddaughter and I watched the last three episodes of Wednesday before she had to go to archery.

When I was stuck in New York, living in paradise but in deep pain because I was separated from my daughter and grandchildren, I began writing a story about a family of fairies who were separated because of a plague. It was a silly story with very low production values (you could sometimes see my fingers as my hand moved the little toys around the garden). Nevertheless, they loved it.

Presence, not presents, is what matters.

The picture of the Italian garden at the top of this writing looks nothing like the gardens of my childhood, yet the very name evokes a memory of my father. The gifts I buy are unlikely to be what they remember about me, but little fairies may always make them think of nana, even long after I’m gone.

I am a grandmother of two delightful children and have been gardening organically for over 50 years. I’m on a mission to live a healthy, joyful life, and I write about it on Medium. If you don’t already have a membership subscription to Medium, please consider using my referral link when you join.