So, My Father was a Gardener?

When going through some old photos I'd never seen before, one photo brought tears to my eyes. Not because it was a photo of my father. Rather, it was what his mother had written on the back side dated July 1928. 

"Walter in his Garden. Age 12."

I never knew my father had his own garden at such a young age. I never knew he liked gardening period. Not once growing up did I get any inkling that he had been a young gardener. It was my mother who had been the gardener. She never planted vegetables. It was always snapdragons she'd plant alongside a rock wall. She never had any idea how much I liked to sit in the grass and pick a few flowers off a random snapdragon plant when she wasn't around. Then I would place my fingers inside the flower just so and make it look as if the flower was talking. Or laughing. Or even singing in the breeze. I would sing along with the singing flower while sitting alongside the rock wall.

After looking at that photo over and over again, it is obvious to me that my father was proud of his garden. He enjoyed working in his garden. Taking care of the plants. Nurturing them. Watching them grow. I wonder what he planted. I wonder if he grew carrots and if so, did he pick a few? Clean them off and eat them right there in his garden? I wonder if he planted potatoes and when it was time, did he pull up his potato plants and go searching in the soil for potatoes? That is always fun to do. It's like a treasure hunt in the garden.

Discovering my father was a gardener when growing up really was not surprising. He grew up to be a kind and caring adult in his own way.

I do wonder one thing though, looking at that photo. Did he really wear white while working in his garden? I doubt it. I am sure his mother had a lot to say about what he should wear for a photo shoot, standing by his garden back in 1928.