How gardening kept my father young
Anne Marr, 68, shares her precious memories of her father, who loved nothing more than spending time in the garden growing fresh produce.
Dad always loved gardening. After 25 years of working at the East End Markets as a cashier, then running his own fruit and veg shop seven days a week for another 20 years, his dream life finally became a reality. When he retired at 70 years of age, he could finally concentrate on growing his own vegies.
Now Dad never did anything by halves. Growing vegies was a very serious business. Dates when everything was planted, the type of seed used, the fertiliser and the weather were all carefully recorded.
Mum longed for a holiday or for that matter, a trip out for the day, but now those were a thing of the past. “It’s too warm today,” Dad would say. “My seedlings will need a drink every three hours.”
Of course as one crop was harvested, another was already planted, so caring for seedlings was a non-stop job. “It’s like starting a family all over again,” complained Mum.
Things only escalated from there. Dad discovered the local show – finally somewhere he could show off his gardening expertise. The first year he entered just four of his magnificent specimens. Much to his wonder he won three firsts and a second.
We all thought this was great and the bonus of eating free prize winning vegies for weeks - even better. Mum wasn’t so sure. “He gets up at the crack of dawn and fusses for hours getting them ready,” she complained. “I should get so much attention.” But I caught the small smile after this comment.
We all reminded Mum it could be worse. At least he was home, out of her hair, and really, it was a cheap hobby. Not to mention all the fresh produce that appeared out of their backyard. “You try blanching and freezing 15 kilos of beans,” she said. “I don’t care how expensive they are in the supermarkets I never want to see another bean again.”
But of course she did, and she loved the compliments she got from her friends about how fit and young-looking her husband was. Plus, how lucky was she to have all this fresh produce. “I can’t let him know about that he might get too big a head,” she would say. “So I’ll just complain a bit instead,” she said with a smile
The second year a repeat performance and Dad was over the moon. Mum had joined in helping.
The third year to Dad’s amazement, another repeat performance. But Mum was now getting a little tired of the whole procedure of staying up half the night guarding his prize-winning veg. Dad was also tiring of growing his pristine vegetables. He never used any chemicals or sprays, instead he patrolled his veggie garden at night with a torch. No earwig or snail was safe.
But then for a few weeks, Dad went rather quiet to the point where Mum asked, “Are you ok, what’s up”? “Nothing,” said Dad, “Just thinking.”
He finally announced to the entire family when we were all gathered for his 75th birthday, “I have decided that this year I won’t enter the show. It’s not fair to everyone else who enters if I just keep winning year after year. It’s time to give other people a chance to win. Three years in a row is enough for me to know I grow the best so I’m retiring.”
“Thank goodness,” was Mum’s reply.
But of course Dad kept gardening, just in a more relaxed way, and both of them got to sleep all night and go on the occasional trip. No more snail guarding or patrolling the garden hourly. Our fridges and freezers were still being filled, but we all did our own blanching and freezing.
Dad passed over in his late 80s at home, still looking like a young 60-year-old, with my daughter and myself holding his hands. His grandson was sitting on the bed with him along with our dog. With his last sentence he continued his philosophy of doing something he’d never done before. He said “I forgive the world and I forgive myself too.”
All my life Dad had judged the world, or the people in it and found them guilty. He finally learnt how to forgive just before he left. This I was so happy about.
My daughter and I continue to grow vegies, just not as good as Dads, of course.
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