Spending days in my grandfather's garden was the essence of my childhood. From the time I could walk I was plodding behind him in tall rows of tomatoes or beans. I would squat and marvel at the size of the cucumbers and touch their prickly skin. I remember that though I was small, I still was allowed to carry large buckets and was viewed as wise enough to make good selections of the choicest vegetables. In the garden clumsiness didn't matter. If you dropped something, you picked it up or picked another. I learned that in the garden I was trusted.

As my grandfather grew older, the garden grew smaller. I no longer rode on his lap on the tractor to plow the ground in the spring. The garden was still my retreat when I felt lonely or sad. There was not unnecessary conversation. I would hear, "Here you go, gal," and would be handed a gardening tool, bucket, or a cucumber sliced with a pocketknife and salted with a small saltshaker hidden in his pocket. The silence was glorious. In the garden, I was at peace.

One particular time, I was heartbroken and walked out and sat in the garden. A boy who I had been interested in at school had told me I was not pretty enough for him. I was only 11 and this rejection hit me hard. I began alone to get on my knees and plop cucumbers into a bucket. We didn't really need any, but I didn't want anyone to see me crying. I had to look productive. The garden was a safe place to cry.

A few moments later, my grandfather was walking towards me. I reached up to wipe my tears forgetting my hands were dirty. I sighed heavily and I felt that there was no hope for a girl like me in being admired. My grandfather smiled and told me, "you are beautiful, know that gal?" My grandfather was a simple man of few words. Beautiful was a word I had never heard him say. I learned that many will not understand true beauty.

Now a thousand miles from that garden, and several years later, it still is ingrained in my soul. The garden is still in my heart. As I listened to the hymn played at my grandfather's funeral, "The Garden" of course, I cried tears that no one else understood. A man who said so little has saved my heart from breaking a thousand times. When we meet again, I am sure it will be in a garden, and we still won't have to say a word. For it was in the garden that I learned of unconditional love.

Learn more about this author, Lizzy Fox.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

---

Add your voice

Know something about True gardening stories: My most inspiring garden experience?
We want to hear your view. Write now!