The greener thumb.

Right after the New Year, my Dad plants his garden. Not outside, but down in his basement. With tender loving care, he places the seeds of his one-day to be tomato plants under lights that make them start their journey to the garden located outside his home. I have often smiled when I have gone downstairs wondering if a surveillance plane were to fly overhead, would they suspect my Dad is growing something else in his basement? (Nothing to worry about here.)

As spring approaches, the plants start to emerge and grow toward the lamps that shine constantly above; it’s kind of hard to imagine in a few short months not only will these puny plants be several feet high, but will begin to produce the first of hundreds of tomatoes, peppers and other vegetables that are a lot better than you will find in any store.

Why are they so much better? Because my Dad grew them.

"Si’s Garden" is at the end of the house I grew up in. Located right outside the bedroom where my Mom and Dad called “their room” for nearly 47 years, I have to assume this location was ideal because it allowed my Dad to look outside when he wanted to make sure his plants were okay. There have been some bad seasons of what I recall; like any farmer, whether in Iowa, Nebraska, or Chesterfield, MO, rain, disease and animals can wreak havoc on a garden. Most years the bounty is incredible.

If my memory serves me, sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t, I think there was a year my Dad tried to grow watermelons. They exploded. I guess you need very special conditions to grow this huge fruit, and when the conditions aren’t right, bam. (No, I did not blow them up with firecrackers if that’s what you are thinking---I was long gone from the house by then.)

My Dad has always enjoyed taking care of his parcel of land; whether it’s the garden, back or front yards, this was, and continues to be, my father’s pride and joy. When I was a kid, my memories of pulling weeds amongst these pesky black pointed stones--- they would dig into your knees---continues today. I hate to pull weeds and as far as I am concerned they have every right to live on this Earth instead of my pulling them and tossing them into the trash.

Now with my Mom gone, who was known for making great tomato sauce, and giving away hundreds of tomatoes to friends and family, it’s up to my Dad to deliver the harvest. I am not worried, there is no one I know who is more giving than my Pops. However, he is going to have to learn how to make sauce or it’s off to Dierberg’s (grocery store) for the jarred stuff. Not going to happen---he will learn to make sauce just like my Mom did.

The photo above is a stone you’ll find leading into the garden where Si, my Dad, performs his magic every year. Sure there’s a lot of help from sun, water, and the climate he lives in, but if it weren’t for his yearly determination to grow some of the best damn tomatoes, I wouldn’t be writing about this right now.

Thanks for stopping by.