We sure have been getting our fair share of rain. It is raining again this Monday evening. We are fortunate. As we know, conditions were worse in other parts of the country. Who knows what kind of weather we will have to deal with before this winter’s end.
My dad always looked forward to the January thaw, a happening he welcomed. He seemed to forget about any serious weather condition that might be right round the corner, throughout the remainder of the season. He’d say, “Well, Bud, it won’t be long now before we’ll be in the gardens again! We better start planning as soon as Henry Fields and Gurney sends their catalogs to us. They will be here any day now. Are you going to help this year?” Then I would ask a rhetorical question, something about a bear and woods, under my breath followed by a grin. We would plow through his muddy backyard and talk about a ton of projects on his bucket list, knowing full-well, neither he nor I could accomplish his long list not even during the long sleepless nights when, in our minds; we moved mountains.
Some nights after a long hot arduous day under the sun, planting and tending his five garden spots, I did see bountiful gardens in my sweet dreams and mixed up nightmares. Reality was his gardens flourished and we reaped the blessings. He shared the bounty with others: friends, neighbors and strangers, close by and from far scope.
The January thaw was the only time during the winter that the gates to his kennels and poultry pens opened freely. We did a bit of shoveling beneath them and the floors of those healthy beagles’ pens too.
What I learned from my dad early on during my childhood came in handy during his declining years. The bucket list changed hands and grew. We still talked about the January thaw, and the gardens were planted on time come spring. They flourished and he shared with others just the same. He remained the master planner, gardener and instructor, often working from his favorite metal lawn chair under the huge old oak tree that I knew as a sapling during my childhood. Those of you that knew Hughie Lynch could truthfully say that he was one of a kind.
I look back down that long-long road from time to time and see us, in another place, another time working in gardens like we once knew. Precious memories mix and blend!
I do not have a garden anymore. I work a few plants into the landscape, just because. This spring my grandson, Michael’s wife, Kayleigh Risk, has requested my input in helping her plan a garden in the spacious backyard of their new home. I am excited!
Well, friends I need to go and check on the kids. Tootie Mae Sartor celebrated her eighth birthday yesterday. She slept it off today.
I can be reached by phone at 317-286–7352 or by mail at 649 South Grant St., Brownsburg, IN, 46112.