We planted an Obama garden to help us during these economic hard times. There is a recession on and I've got to do for me and mine...
Well, the 8 cabbages are heading in the right direction. 2 of 6 peppers have pooped out. 2.267 rows of carrots are doing fine, the rest never even started. Tiny tomatoes are trepadaciously trying out on our four plants. The green beans are running up their strings. The onions (that's pronounced on-yons) are green and growing. Four rows of corn are popping up nicely. The strawberry and cantelope are living but not budding, yet.
The grape is even leafing out better than it has since I transferred it from Grandpa Andy's.
We water them, train or tie them to supports, weed them and hoe around them frequently. Whenever I do I think of my Papa (pronounced on Blue Creek "Pop-All") and pray that somehow his work ethic, humility, patience and gentleness that must reside in my DNA would rise up. I am all too aware of my impatience, self-importance, sterness and idleness these days.
Like my little garden, my heart and mind seem more suited for wild, uninvited growth. Without daily tending, my life is reclaimed by wilderness from which God has cleared me. In this fallen place, brush and bad grow with less effort than vineyards and virtue. Both my heart and the very ground I walk on cry out for the deliverance to come at His Appearing.
The ground or the gardener are not as good as Grandpa's, but all in all, things are looking up in our little, square-foot Obama garden...
Showing posts with label Grandpa Andy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandpa Andy. Show all posts
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
The Vine
In the Roots Run Deep, I shared the back story for the post Lisa inspired the other day.
Over the past 4 years the grapes I transplanted from Grandma and Grandpa Andy's have done very well every spring. Then as they fill with lush, green leaves, something comes along and devours the greens. I have yet to see, let alone taste, a single grape from those vines that once provided the base for mouth-watering jelly.
Last fall I thought my vine experiment had come to an end. They were eaten bare to the spindly vine and no new growth came out. Life had been snuffed out though the vine couldn't stop putting on the appearance.
This evening I spotted some pinkish-purply color at the base of two of the three vines! Life had returned with the spring! I spent the evening inspecting and nurturing them. I took Eli up the hill to tell him these plants were once Grandpa Andy's and they were VERY special plants. I even had hopes that together E and I will taste the thick, sweet fruit of the vine together someday.
Tonight I had a flash of a portion of Scripture about vines. God says he planted a hedge around a transplanted vine in His vineyard. Later He says he will remove the hedge and allow wild animals to run through the tender vines.
I think I will put a fence around the vines this year and see if that helps them to flourish and be fruitful. More to come...
I'm sure there will be more to post about the Vines...
Over the past 4 years the grapes I transplanted from Grandma and Grandpa Andy's have done very well every spring. Then as they fill with lush, green leaves, something comes along and devours the greens. I have yet to see, let alone taste, a single grape from those vines that once provided the base for mouth-watering jelly.
Last fall I thought my vine experiment had come to an end. They were eaten bare to the spindly vine and no new growth came out. Life had been snuffed out though the vine couldn't stop putting on the appearance.
This evening I spotted some pinkish-purply color at the base of two of the three vines! Life had returned with the spring! I spent the evening inspecting and nurturing them. I took Eli up the hill to tell him these plants were once Grandpa Andy's and they were VERY special plants. I even had hopes that together E and I will taste the thick, sweet fruit of the vine together someday.
Tonight I had a flash of a portion of Scripture about vines. God says he planted a hedge around a transplanted vine in His vineyard. Later He says he will remove the hedge and allow wild animals to run through the tender vines.
I think I will put a fence around the vines this year and see if that helps them to flourish and be fruitful. More to come...
I'm sure there will be more to post about the Vines...
The Roots Run Deep
Lisa had a great, honest post recently about being in the pruning season of life. Well this little tale dovetails with that idea.
My Grandpa Andy did a lot of things that left impressions on me. He was quiet, strong, generous and ingenious. One thing he loved to do was grow things. In part out of necesity and in part out of genuine enjoyment, he always provided food for his family from his land.
One especially tasty treat was grape jelly from his own arbors. He and I shared many a morning started with grape jelly and butter on biscuits at the bar in the tiny Anderson kitchen. There we would, as Grandma Andy says, "hatch up" plans for a day full of adventure.
A few years ago, after Grandma had to move from the much-too-distant and delapodated home-place, I made a pilgrimage there. I drove up Blue Creek Road, past the homes of cousins, the Anderson family cemetary and finally to Shrader. You can only travel by car just a few more miles before the hard-road empties into Blue Creek at a place called Coco.
I got out of my car and walked up the railroad tracks to the "swingin' bridge" and over the blue-green waters churning with spring thaw and a recent rain. Then I walked back along a narrow path along the far side of the creek. Then I turned left and into the holler known as Billy's Fork. Stepping on rocks I forded the little stream and up on the bank in front of what remains of my family's once vast ancestral property.
The old home-place sighed to the right as if bored now that few if any still travellers make the trek along the branch anymore. For generations Billy's Fork of Blue Creek bustled with dirt farmers, mountain folk and coalminers and their families. The gate had long collapsed onto itself and the fence fallen. The entire lot teamed with wild, thorny undergrowth. Moving through the lower garden that once was carpeted with sweet potatoe vines took 20 prickly, painful minutes. The upper garden still had a few strawberry plants struggling to hold the tender soil Grandpa had babied into black velvet over decades.
After 45 minutes, I had moved from the front gate to my goal -- the grape arbor. The sight was far from encouraging. After years of abandonment, the grapes had turned to the nearby trees to trellis. I carefully pruned one Concord grapevine back to about 3 feet and then gingerly dug it up out of that sacred soil.
I brought three root stocks to my home in Poca in a 5 gallon bucket wrapped in wet cloths. I planted them in three different location to maximize the chance of survival. I fertilized and watered and watched over them that entire first year.
I love looking out my back door and seeing those vines. Even though I have moved far [physically and metaphorically] from Billy's Fork, I still have a connection to my family's place. My roots run deep...
My Grandpa Andy did a lot of things that left impressions on me. He was quiet, strong, generous and ingenious. One thing he loved to do was grow things. In part out of necesity and in part out of genuine enjoyment, he always provided food for his family from his land.
One especially tasty treat was grape jelly from his own arbors. He and I shared many a morning started with grape jelly and butter on biscuits at the bar in the tiny Anderson kitchen. There we would, as Grandma Andy says, "hatch up" plans for a day full of adventure.
A few years ago, after Grandma had to move from the much-too-distant and delapodated home-place, I made a pilgrimage there. I drove up Blue Creek Road, past the homes of cousins, the Anderson family cemetary and finally to Shrader. You can only travel by car just a few more miles before the hard-road empties into Blue Creek at a place called Coco.
I got out of my car and walked up the railroad tracks to the "swingin' bridge" and over the blue-green waters churning with spring thaw and a recent rain. Then I walked back along a narrow path along the far side of the creek. Then I turned left and into the holler known as Billy's Fork. Stepping on rocks I forded the little stream and up on the bank in front of what remains of my family's once vast ancestral property.
The old home-place sighed to the right as if bored now that few if any still travellers make the trek along the branch anymore. For generations Billy's Fork of Blue Creek bustled with dirt farmers, mountain folk and coalminers and their families. The gate had long collapsed onto itself and the fence fallen. The entire lot teamed with wild, thorny undergrowth. Moving through the lower garden that once was carpeted with sweet potatoe vines took 20 prickly, painful minutes. The upper garden still had a few strawberry plants struggling to hold the tender soil Grandpa had babied into black velvet over decades.
After 45 minutes, I had moved from the front gate to my goal -- the grape arbor. The sight was far from encouraging. After years of abandonment, the grapes had turned to the nearby trees to trellis. I carefully pruned one Concord grapevine back to about 3 feet and then gingerly dug it up out of that sacred soil.
I brought three root stocks to my home in Poca in a 5 gallon bucket wrapped in wet cloths. I planted them in three different location to maximize the chance of survival. I fertilized and watered and watched over them that entire first year.
I love looking out my back door and seeing those vines. Even though I have moved far [physically and metaphorically] from Billy's Fork, I still have a connection to my family's place. My roots run deep...
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