Love Grows Here
Some of my most vivid memories take place in a garden. Not just any garden, though. My grandpa’s garden. Harlon Hawkins, a.k.a. “Papa”…… agri teacher, county clerk, cattle farmer, master gardener, husband, father, grandfather, friend, neighbor, and so much more. Here we are together circa 1984 donning matching overalls - this is one of my all-time favorite pictures to this day. Every time I look at it, the memories from our time together on the farm come flooding back with warmth and fondness for those precious moments.
I remember my grandparents working tirelessly in the garden. They tended it with the purpose of growing their own food and feeding their family, and they were always so proud to share fresh garden produce with us. There was ALWAYS fresh produce coming from Papa and Granny’s garden: tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, potatoes, green beans, purple hull peas, okra, garlic, pears, and pecans, to name a few. Sometimes there would be such abundance from the garden that it would take over the entire kitchen without a single bit of counter space left to spare. We were free to eat as much as we liked, and we sure did. What we didn’t eat fresh, my grandma would can and pickle to preserve for meals down the line. To this day, no other watermelons come close to being as perfectly sweet and juicy as Papa’s. I wish I had a bite right now!
When you’re a little kid, everything seems larger than life, but it always seemed like the veggies coming out of Papa’s garden were extra big and yummy. There were always so many buckets of freshly picked tomatoes and cucumbers in the summertime - those buckets brimming over with healthy food inspired me in ways back then that I only truly understand now as an adult with my own family to feed. He did have a green thumb but his careful, loving approach to gardening is the “secret sauce” that I remember. And if there were extra garden goodies to spare, he would deliver them to grateful neighbors. Little did he know, he was also delivering Love, Kindness, and Strength to his community.
It was fun to work in the garden with my grandpa, and he let his grandkids explore freely even though we were probably doing more harm than good with our little “helping hands”. He could have told us to stay out of the garden, and my grandma could have told us to stay out of the kitchen. Life would have been easier and faster that way for them, but they knew that our curiosity about nature and where our food comes from should not be stifled. That freedom and joy that comes from experiencing a garden at its fullest potential - to see a plant grow from seed to harvest to joyful eating - is something that I will never take for granted. When we all worked together as a family to grow, cook, and gather over a meal - multiple generations taking part - that’s what “farm to table” means to me.
I will always cherish my memories of Papa’s garden, and it’s in his honor that I grow and care for my own garden today. It’s nowhere near as magnificent as the one I grew up with, but it’s my favorite way to stay curious, playful, and joyful outside. I know my Papa would be proud.
