Whose Garden is This Anyway?

The anticipation of our trip set us girls to giggling. We had only met our grandmother once, prior to our visit, and had never seen our grandfather at all. Our grandmother had come to see us when Ricky was born and I fell fast in love with her inviting smile and ample cushioning, which made hugs and cuddles warm and secure.

After hours and hours of 'Are we there yet' and 'But I really have to go' we finally pulled into their driveway. The first thing I noticed was beautiful pine trees shadowing the small gray house and tickling the clouds with their lofty tips. Their sweet aroma filled the air making me hungrier than the long trip had.

Hugs and hellos taken care of, my sister and me stretched our legs with a quick run around the front yard stopping briefly to sit on the fancy white iron bench that encircled a majestic pine. That would be the last time we would sit there as we quickly discovered that where there are pine trees there is also pine pitch, and that trying to remove it only spreads it from sticky bottoms to now sticky fingers. The bright spot was that I now got to carry the sweet, musty odor with me the rest of the day.

As dad unloaded the car we walked up the four steps to the front door and once in the house we were ushered to the kitchen and treated to big beautiful tomato slices sprinkled with a touch of sugar. They were delicious! Red meaty sections alternated with slimy seedy sections all toped with just enough sugar to create a wonderful mix of textures that woke, forever, my developing taste buds.

"Just picked 'em this morning" my grandfather proudly proclaimed as he pointed out the window. Looking to where he was pointing I could see a perfectly square plot of black earth with green, yellow, and red vines and stalks neatly arranged in rows and mounds. It was beautiful! I had never seen a garden before and I was in awe.

"That's my garden...if you behave I'll let you help your grandmother weed tomorrow" he said with a knowing smile.

The next morning I woke at 5a.m. ready to weed with my grandmother, Meme. Grangka was already up and drinking a smelly concoction they called "iced coffee". I sat at the table with him, holding my breath as best I could, while Meme cleaned up from his breakfast.

"You'll make a good gardener getting up as early as you do." Grangka nodded his approval and for the first time, in my short 5 years of life, I felt important.

"You know, we have to let the sun

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