Papa’s Garden

As I enter the garage each day, Dad’s presence is so strong.  It is a blessing to have all of his things surrounding me each day, while sometimes it’s suffocating and I run. I know that all the emotions go along with losing a loved one and it is a right of passage, but sometimes I JUST DON’T WANT TO.

Most days I am good and I get a kick as I see him all over the place.

This day…….I’m standing at the workbench and I see his stuff.

This stuff was like his drug of choice.

Car parts. Oh my word there is a giant jug of muffler clamps.

Nails and screws

Bolts and brackets.

You name it. It’s probably there.

Each one of the above mentioned, is stored in some sort of container and labeled in masking tape written in his very distinct handwriting Kyle describes as chicken scratch.

I will get back to the garage in a moment.

We have recently begun our vegetable garden.

I started some plants from seeds.

They outgrew their little trays and had to be moved to larger pots.

Last year, Dad planted blackberries and he was gifted additional blackberry bushes.

We had a few blackberries last year and Dad was beside himself with joy as we picked and ate the fruits of his labor.

This year, Justin added to the blackberry patch and now the blackberries are already blooming and have begun to spring forth berries. We are pretty pleased with ourselves.

Yesterday was finally the day! We were building our garden beds.

We waited until the pool was dug so that we could steal the dirt from the hole.

The garden beds will be located behind the pool house.

There will eventually be 8 beds but for now, 4 will have to do.

It was a hot and very dirty day but two beds are completely finished and the other two will be complete by the end of the week

Back to the garage.

I wanted to call our garden, Papa’s garden.

Dad would have been up to his elbows in dirt.

He would have been bossing us all around yesterday as we built the beds and leveled dirt. He would have been in HOG HEAVEN.

So what better way to have him share in our garden then to name it after him.

If he wasn’t Vernon, PeeWee or Dad, he was Papa.

I stood at the work bench one day crying over his labeled trays and started carefully pulling off the masking tape.

I enlarged the letters

I cut a piece of wood and painted it his favorite color of fire engine red.

I traced and painted the letters

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I can’t wait to hang up the sign and see it each and every day as we tend to our garden.

His name.

His handwriting.

His heart.

We will eat blackberries and toast to Papa’s garden.

Have a wonderful week!

About abandonedocala

Christ Follower 💜 Wife 💜 Mom 💜 Grandmom (BB is my name). 💜Rescued and Restored a 114 year old farmhouse. Isaiah 54:7
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