Looking over what’s left, it sure didn’t end where it started.
The furthest back I can remember, our garden sat at the far end of my family’s suburban property, along the rear fence and opposite the original single-car garage that’s still standing almost 60 years later, albeit a little rougher for wear these days. As I recall, it was about one-quarter the size of the fenced yard back then.
In that old space, it was home to raspberry bushes and rhubarb that didn’t need any encouragement to return year after year. As kids my sisters and I would all eat it fresh from the garden, until it was eventually pulled and converted into frozen rhubarb. I really don’t remember much more than those two crops, but I’m sure Dad grew more than that.
After some time in that configuration, the garden expanded all the way over to the garage, taking up a significant portion of the backyard. That was when Dad’s farming roots took over, and I clearly recall potatoes, tomatoes, leaf lettuce and a variety of other vegetables sprouting summer after summer. My play area there was impeded by plants of all varieties in neat rows. I’m pretty sure one of my childhood chores was weeding, but more likely I played with my toys among the cucumbers and onions. Never a fan of onions, I may have accidentally stomped a few of those like grapes, but they always seemed to survive right up to the dinner table.
As all of us kids grew older, we needed a second car and the garden relocated, right off the back of the house, almost up the wall of the garage. It became an L-shape, introducing newer and more exotic veggies, like zucchinis. There was also a separate flower bed, pinwheels and more gnomes than an enchanted forest. The old garden was paved over to make space for an open parking pad, and a handyman’s lean-to with a heavy emphasis on “lean”.
In the new location, sunflowers and corn graced the garden’s regular growings, while elaborate wire fences nailed to old broken hockey sticks tried to keep out rabbits and other pests. After a couple of hip operations and the onset of Parkinson’s, it was no easy task for Dad to maintain that sprawling beast, but somehow maintenance did occur enough to see radishes and peas sprout seasonally and make their way onto the dinner table.
As it did become harder to control and care for, a neighbour was invited to share in the space, and grow a few rows of veggies for their own family. Difficult as it was, the favourite items still got pulled out of the ground, with a walker or forearm canes digging weeds out along the way.
When Dad passed away last year, the hope was to see some of the mainstay favourites keep producing, but the neighbour that had used the space lost interest, and Mom couldn’t take care of such a large space on her own. We had it roto-tilled once, but the weeds came back faster than the rhubarb.
After a second try, we laid tarps down, and while that wasn’t exactly a sightly solution, it did seem to contain the unwanted growth for this past summer. I suspect a more permanent solution may need to be implemented, but no one is in any rush to make that happen.
Given the migration pattern, the garden may have eventually ended up in the front yard, given a few more seasons. For the foreseeable though, it will sit idle. Most likely dormant. It sure didn’t end where it started.
[quote_box_center]“A backyard is a novel about us, and when we sit there on a summer day, we hear the dialogue and see the characters.” – Garrison Keillor, Leaving Home (1987)[/quote_box_center]
Humour columnist and author Dan St. Yves was licensed with Royal LePage Kelowna for 11 years. Check out his website at danstyves.com.
