My grandparent’s house was on about an acre of land. Their house, built in the 60’s, sat near the front of the lot. There was just a little front yard, and bushes grew beneath the large living room window. The majority of the land was in the back yard. As an adult I realize it wasn’t huge, but as a child it was a gigantic playground.
The North side of the yard was lined with cherry trees, the South side with apricot trees, and the back of the yard butted up to an empty lot, in season raspberries grew along the chain link fence that separated the two properties. A tire swing hung from one of the oak trees, that offered shade.
My siblings, cousins, and I would spend hours running around the yard, swinging, and pretending we were on some great adventure. But my favorite memory of that back yard is the garden, a fairly large garden in the very middle of the yard. One time I was helping my grandpa – he pulled a carrot from the ground, we went to the water spigot, he washed the dirt off of it, and handed it to me. I took a big bite off of the carrot, the wet leafy tops dripping water down my arm. My grandmother would send me to the garden to collect veggies. One time she sent me for peas. I guess I had been gone too long, and she came looking for me. I was walking down the row of peas, eating them as I picked, depositing the empty shells in the basket, which was meant for the peas. They were so incredibly sweet, I couldn’t stop myself.
I wish my grandparents were alive now, so I could tell them this. Some of my best childhood memories were spent at that house, in the yard, sleeping over, playing in the basement, and eating the wonderful sweetness that came from their garden.