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Read by Michael Flamel
The breeze outside carries the promise of Spring, and the sun graces us with its presence a bit more each day. It’s that time again, preparing for the upcoming Spring in our family garden.
Stepping into the shed to inspect my gardening tools—the hoe, rake, and watering can—transports me back to the enchanting Summer of 1963.
Dad had just taken on the role of a pastor at a small church, juggling another job to make ends meet. He believed that having a garden would significantly help our family’s finances.
When the moment came to measure and outline the garden, my brother Ken and I eagerly joined in, offering our “expertise.” Dad, armed with a shovel, turned over the soil while Ken broke up clods, and I tackled the weeds and grass—a nostalgic image of days before backyard rototillers.
Interrupted by Mom’s call for dinner, our gardening day ended. Gathered around the table, the talkative family fell silent when Dad, lost in thought, proposed an impromptu swim in the river the next day, only if the garden wasn’t an obstacle. Our minds were so consumed with the idea that we missed Mom and Dad exchanging smiles.
Next morning, fueled by excitement, Ken and I swiftly completed our chores. Mom, without a word, joined us in the garden. By the time Dad returned from work, we were ready for an evening of swimming, proud of our hard work.
Days passed in simple Summer bliss until Dad, one evening, came home with a bag that hinted at more garden work. The pattern emerged—whenever the garden needed attention, Dad craved a swim. Weeding, harvesting, or fertilizing, we willingly pitched in, knowing a refreshing dip awaited us.
The Summer of 1963, unbeknownst to us, was orchestrated by our clever parents. As adults, Ken and I embraced gardening, thanks to Dad. Recently planning my garden, I called Ken, expressing a desire to swim but lamenting the garden’s needs. Laughter ensued, followed by tears—Dad passed away last year, leaving a legacy of love, devotion, and a shared passion for gardening.
In every planted seed and harvested crop, we feel Dad’s presence, forever cherishing our Summer of 1963—a garden of memories. ❖
About the Author: Gregory Downs is a passionate gardener and storyteller who draws inspiration from his childhood experiences. Growing up in a small town, Gregory spent his formative years learning the value of hard work and family bonds through the family’s gardening and river adventures. He writes to preserve these cherished memories and to inspire others to find joy in the simple pleasures of life.
