Read by Michael Flamel

After thirty years in law enforcement, retirement didn’t mean hanging up my boots. Unexpectedly, my best post-retirement gig turned out to be a garden, where I became the volunteer gardener.

The church I belonged to housed a massive vegetable garden initiated by Verne, a retired timber faller with a green thumb. At 85, Verne decided it was time to pass the gardening hoe, and, to my surprise, he had me in mind.

One evening at a church gathering, Verne, in his usual candid style, declared, “I’m too old for this. You’re gonna have to take it over.” I, the unwitting chosen one, agreed after a quick scan to confirm he was indeed talking to me. Fate had a twist; Verne had a stroke soon after, leaving the garden in my rookie hands.

Undeterred, I dove into gardening with the enthusiasm of a novice. The learning curve was steep, but I managed to keep the garden from overwhelming me. As the seasons passed, I not only grew veggies but also cultivated unexpected roles.

From giving impromptu lectures to local garden clubs to mentoring an elementary school’s garden, my green thumb became a community asset. The annual “Corn Feed” became a Thanksgiving tradition, with fresh produce from the garden adding flair to the festivities.

In a quirky turn of events, the county probation department sent non-violent offenders my way for community service. Apparently, weeding and planting were therapeutic for them, transforming the garden into an unexpected rehabilitation haven.

The most heartwarming chapter unfolded across the parking lot from Head Start, where three classes of curious 4-5-year-olds were a constant presence. The children, enchanted by the garden, sparked art projects and lessons, culminating in a grand garden tour.

Armed with a bag for harvesting, the children would eagerly await my invitation to enter the garden. With a conspiratorial whisper, I revealed the garden’s magical secret—a fairy who wrote names on pumpkins. The ensuing hunt for pumpkins with carved names, coupled with my playful suggestion that the fairy might wear a red shirt, turned the garden into a wonderland for the children.

Their giggles, discoveries, and imaginative questions became the soundtrack to my days in the garden. Their genuine excitement, epitomized by the chorus of “Hi, Mr. Stan!” upon my arrival, turned gardening into a joyous adventure.

As I reflect on my unexpected role as the garden’s guardian, I can’t help but smile. Retirement brought more than leisure; it brought a whimsical journey, where laughter echoed through rows of vegetables and the magic of a red plaid shirt made a simple garden feel like home.