Grampa...

I lost one of my Grampas last night.  I often think we take our Grampas for granted.  We assume that this strong yet comforting man will always be there for us to turn to.  A man who served proudly in the Korean War. A man who could fix anything you broke, often with some duct tape and good ol' American ingenuity.  A man who only drank Oly or Pabst back when they were considered a man's beer & not something for hipsters to pretend over.  A man who put in 8-10 hours a day working at a job but still came home to work his almond orchard and gardens.  A man who could be ornery and curt yet would still shed tears every time one of his dogs passed away.  A man who taught two rambunctious boys and one tomboy girl what it meant to work hard to get what you want out of life.  A man...

My Grampa was known for his gardens and freshest vegetables, next to his family they were what he was most proud of.  My Grandmother asked me to write a short poem for the service dedication to honor what he loved best doing:

My Garden, My Life

My garden is life

through which all were nourished

growing strong and vibrant

with my love and caring

to make sure all around me

were bathed

in my sun’s warm light

onions so tasty...so powerful

they’ll bring a tear to your eye

tomatoes so juicy...so zesty

you’ll be smiling for a week

peppers so crisp...so strong

even the coldest nights seem warm

My garden, my life

My garden is life

I put myself in my garden

each plant a small part of me

an image of my being

for all to see beauty and strength

full of life’s flavor, full of life’s color

and through the sharing of my garden

with all that I loved

I know I will be part

of the lives forever

of those who loved me

My garden, my life