Epilogue

    At age 75 Dad had a heart attack and was no longer able to operate the rototiller so I made the trip south during spring break and cultivated his backyard garden for him.   With considerable effort he was still able to push his high-wheel plow to make the furrows to sow seeds.     After the last spring frost I would return south again to bring Dad tomato plants from my greenhouse.  On this visit Dad would eagerly showoff his emerging radishes, peas, and lettuce knowing his garden was always a good two or three weeks ahead of mine.  After admiring his vegetables I would help  him plant Big Beef, Brandywine, and Early Girl tomato plants.

   

    After several years of making these spring journeys it became apparent that Dad’s physical and mental conditions were declining. I first noticed the grapevines and rose bushes were not being properly maintained.   I took over the spring pruning and winter mulching, and ordering replacement roses for those that didn’t survive the winter.  For a few springs he planted the new roses I ordered when they arrived.  He would call and thank me and let me know they came.

      But his health continued to deteriorate.   I was concerned when he failed to make a thank you phone call.   That year when I made the first spring trip south I discovered the roses still packaged and desiccated in the garage.  Later when I returned with the tomato plants, I saw he had planted rows that were crooked, haphazard, and even crossing and overlapping each other.   Apparently he had forgotten from day to day what had been sown and where.  So on Thursday he might go out and sow a row of peas  directly over the row of lettuce he had planted on Monday.    

    I liked the spring ritual of planting Dad’s garden as much as Dad did so I was  reluctant to give it up.  The last year he gardened, all three grapevines had kicked the bucket and only two  rosebushes  exhibited any sign of life.   That year Dad  could no longer operate the high-wheel himself and he had not remembered to order seeds from Burpee for spring planting.   I walked with him to the hardware store where he had a very difficult time even deciding what seeds he wanted to plant.  That summer he didn’t remember to cull the seedlings or pull weeds or even to harvest.   Without watering and spraying the last two rose bushes died. 

     I raised the surrender flag when I made a trip home late  October for Mom’s birthday.   Dad asked me if I was there to help him plant the garden.  The home team had struck out in the ninth and the game was over.  

      I guess for every garden there has to be a final planting and harvest season, but that’s a very sad thought to consider.