Grandpa's Garden by Carmine Casucci

To the right of the empty old garage, formally a stable was Grandpa’s garden on a roughly square plot of ground behind my grandparent’s house. To a suburban eight year old it was a wonder. Grandpa would take me to an old rickety fence with a gate held in place with a bent piece of wire. Once inside Grandpa would point out and name his plants: zucchini, garlic, basil, tomatoes, corn and grapes. He’d touch each type as if to reassure them he was there to look after them and keep them happy and safe. The plants seemed to respond to this tough old man with the strong thick fingers. Somehow the years of delivering blocks of ice in the summer and bags of coal in the winter had not diminished his ability to tenderly nurture.
My special treat was to enter the grape arbor. Sunlight would dapple the inside of the arbor with magical spots. Big fat bunches of grapes would push aside the wide grape leafs as if to say, “Here I am.” Grandpa would pick a couple of grapes off a bunch for me to sample. His grapes were always sweet. But almost immediately the sugar was gone in my mouth leaving a soft pulp surrounded by a thick tough skin. Grandpa would tell me, “Spit it out by the roots.” It was good for them he’d say. Grandpa would study the grapes and estimate how soon he’d harvest them for adding to the grapes he’d buy for his wine making.
By the time of my high school years the garage and garden were long gone with only the grape arbor left with a few hanger-on leaves and vines. Grandpa no longer made his wine. He said the work was hard only to save ten cents on a gallon of wine he could by from California. He was still robust but his interest seemed to not be in his garden anymore. When I’d visit we’d sit and watch Hopalong Cassidy together, never mentioning his garden. Perhaps it was a mutual understanding. Some things in life have their time and place and when they’re gone it’s best not to bring up lost loves.
Grandpa seemed to understand life, not expecting too much but being satisfied with what he had. For someone with only an elementary school education he seemed wise in many ways. Because of him I’ll always have my sun-drenched memories of being in his garden watching with wonder, as life seemed to grow at his touch.