For My Father, Piter...

"Gardening, I am, the fruit of my father..."

When I was growing up well into my adulthood I could never understood WHY people loved gardening.

I mean, I enjoyed the beauty of the flowers and the bushes and plants and I enjoyed eating the fruits of people’s labors.

But I just couldn't see myself getting down knee deep into the dirt (hey, that’d ruin my jeans!); nor could I made myself digging with my hands into the dirt (the thoughts of worms crawling beneath the dirt would make me shiver(And hey! I’d get dirt under my nails!! Yuck!); nor could I picture myself wearing those silly sun hats or holding a tiny shovel that looked like something that belonged to Alice in Wonderland, where it should be the "Queen.

"Images of Rosa(I think her name was Rosa?), a neighbor that lived two doors down from me when I was in college, clad in her flowery sunhat, kneeling on her one bad knee (actually, I think both of her knees were bad), while holding up her tiny spade that I called a spatula (she’d always correct me," that’s a mini-spade, not a spatula!") in one hand and waving while the other hand clinging to a sunflower, or a bush-twig, or some sorta plant along with her dirt covered face as I drove by her house, always made me smiled AT her.

I’d always nod at her and yell out my window, “hi Ms. Rosa! What are you planting today?”

She’d often smile and yell back at me for me to come and help her to get up because of her bad knees.

That image never left my mind beyond my college years. I’d often thought, what a sweet but DUMB lady? She had bad knees and fair skin, what the heck was she doing in dirt and out under the hot sun? What kind of life was that?? Me, I'd rather sit inside insulated by the cool air conditioner with a tall glass of iced tea.

Now that, IS life!

I could remember neighbors or friends that gardened would always bring us the product of their labors: veggies, fruits, flowers. And I was always amazed at how fresh the veggies and fruits were, or how much prettier the flowers were compared to the ones you’d find at the florists.

But I sure was glad that there were someone out there that were willing to get down and dirty!

"Better them than me!" I'd often thought to myself, " I’ll just sit here and enjoy THEIR fruits of labor.

"My father passed away on July 5th, 2003. He died a miserable and lonely man. Congested heart failure and diabetes robbed him of his health and made him weak and emaciated.

In the last 18 months of his life, I saw an otherwise healthy man, losing over 80 lbs almost overnight, sleeping only an hour or two a day, falling into a major depression that he didn’t even realized he had, turned into someone that looked like a total stranger to me.

This was NOT the man that I knew?!

The muscular, strong, often times smart-alec, and sometimes mean father?

No, not this frail, pathetic looking man??

It was like watching a flower withering away right in front of me…

My father shared the same philosophy toward gardening as I did. He hated dirt.

Now, He loved to dig dirt for worms to fish with because he looooved to fish.

But digging into dirt to plant something?? Forget about it…

But before he became so debilitated, he, GARDENED…

About three years before he passed away, I saw my father and my mother planted a tiny vegetable/fruit garden in their backyard.

He’d just gotten news of his congested heart failure and was forced to quit his job. This was a man that had ADHD and couldn't sit still for one second to save his life. So, my mother suggested to him that they’d garden to keep his times occupied.

Besides, the benefits of eating his own produces appealed to him.

So, there they were, planting and sweating and I would just watch and smile and shake my head. I was working nights plus extra jobs; I could barely keep my head above water.

So, "don't even bother asking me to help," I'd thought.

The man that was my father, changed infront of my eyes…he’d go outside religiously and watered daily; he'd pull weeds while getting down and dirty.

And whenever I’d see him bring in the “children", he’d have such satisfaction on his face that I’d rarely seen it was as if he had won the lottery...

The youngest of 10 children, his father had him at a late age and seemed to have abandoned him emotionally. He was raised by mean dogmatic brothers, and canonistic sisters. He seemed to have searched his whole life for a sense of belonging but never seemed to have found.

He was always the life of a party. Always the first one to start a game, or sing, or clown around. He wasn’t shy to take the microphone during a tour bus ride when the tour guide asked for a volunteer to sing other tourists on to ease the long hours on the bus.

He was always the show-off and was considered the comedian of any group he was in.

Some said that I have gotten my sense of humor from him. I didn’t realize that until after the end of his life.

Yet, he died lonely and without friends…none of his “friends” showed at his funeral. No co-workers, no one…only his family (one brother and one sister and some nephews and nieces showed) and immediate family and the friends of ours(that didn't even knew him) showed.

The man, who tried become popular, or in a better sense, loved, died an irony of what he thrived for…

But I saw the joy on his face whenever he’d take in his “edible kids".Especially the eggplants, he just loved them. He’d sauteé them ever so gently and sniffed and whiffed the aroma while his eyes closed as if he was in heaven.

When I’d watch him sit and eat them on those occasions. He was like the proudest father of all and the savoring of the flavors would flow all over his face. It would always made me grin.

Unfortunately, he got sicker and sicker with dementia and he became dangerous in the kitchen. Eventually,we had to ban him from the kitchen for we'd had too many close calls with fire.

The utmost fear was that he would've burn himself to death if none of us were around although we tried to make sure that someone was always at the house watching over him.

His depression took over and he became thinner and thinner, emaciated to the point of a stick.

This was a man, whom, at one time I thought could take on Ali; now, wizening and dying, right in front of my very eyes…and as he deteriorated, the garden he so loved, shared the same fate...

A few weeks before he passed away, we became closer like we’d NEVER been before. I’d cook for him (he actually looked forwarded to my cooking). I’d spent almost all my free waking hours talking to him, trying to make him exercise, trying to boost up his spirit. I even got down into dirt…

I planted a tiny rosemary bush outside the steps where he could see when he’d do his breathing exercises when he was outside. In my heart, I had hoped that he would be able to see the rosemary grow up big, green and strong. I wanted him to have a sense of hope, to see some sort of “life” thriving infront of him. I wanted him to smell the aroma infront of him. To awaken that brain that had long been hibernating and given up.

The rosemary bush was actually given to me a year earlier by a dear friend, Tam, that passed away 6 months before my dad’s death. She loved rosemary. And when she visited me, we talked about plants and how I loved to eat them but hated to plant them. So, she got me a pot of mixed herbs, with rosemary being the center piece.

The herbs came all pretty and adorned and I didn’t have to get dirty. All I needed was to water it daily. But when Tam passed away, I gave up on the plants. And they all faded away. Interestingly enough, few weeks before my dad died, I saw the rosemary peeking its tiny green arm out…and I thought to myself, “it is a sign…” So I replanted the rosemary in hopes of a good sign.But all signs turned into a dead end. The rosemary withered, my father wizened. And now both are underneath dirt…

dirt that I have been avoiding, afraid of getting into most of my life…that’s where my dad now resides…I was so angry the first few weeks…I was full of confusion, resentments, but most of all, questions…

“WHY???” I'd ask...

“I DON’T KNOW…” I'd answer

“I Don’t know??” That was my answer?? I can’t accept that as my answer…I HAVE TO HAVE SOMETHING!! Look where he is, in dirt!! IN DIRT!!!!!! MY FATHER!! Whom was alive, and now, he is beneath dirt!!! And the only answer that I have is: "I DON'T KNOW???" Oh, CURSE YOU!! Ole Creator, curse you!!

Believe me...I cursed...I wanted to go into the dirt with him…my heart was beneath the dirt already…it had always been, battling my own depression and suicidal thoughts, it was buried long ago…

perhaps that was why I was afraid of dirt, afraid that I would not have been able to resist of wanting to be one with dirt...

But now, I physically wanted to rip my heart out and shove it in there with him…to show him…Show him what…that I have a heart?? That I wished I could’ve tried harder? That I wished we could’ve had more time?? That we could’ve….this and that and whatever???TOO LATE!!

Wait…"DIRT…"

The flowers we’d bring to him, always seemed to attract insects…butterflies and crickets and bees…

One time, I sat in front of his marker and was blinded by tears…then, I asked the WHY’s and was left with the I dunno’s…

but then, when I wiped my eyes, I saw…“LIFE…”Wait, how could there be LIFE at a cemetery?? It was full of dead people!! DEAD DEAD DEAD, everywhere I glanced were DEATH!! Death and DIRT, that was all I saw!!

But wait, I was WRONG!!There IS life!! A beautiful forest rested on the backdrop of his gravesite. A beautiful garden sat in the center of the cemetery. And birds were singing in the distance, insects were chirping. Flowers were blooming.

I rubbed my eyes…I smiled…"LIFE…"

A few months after he passed away, a dear friend of mine(who is now known as, da wife) talked to me about how her mother and the her neighbor shared the duty of a garden every year…and I felt myself interested, wanting to learn more…I had planted a couple of things since that discovery of dirt/life. But I have always managed to kill whatever I planted…

This dear friend(who is now my dear wife) lived close enough and her schedule seemed to match mine. So, we talked of a garden behind my house. Then one sunny day, we digged and dugged and dugged some more…we haul, hauled, and hauled some more…until we have a tiny veggie garden in the backyard. It was simple enough, with just 6 tomato plants, a row of soybeans, 6 eggplant plants (hard to say eggplant plants, good thing we didn't plant Piter's Pickles), and a little cilantro and spearmint bush.

After we were done that day, we watered it and when the sun’s rays gleamed down and reflect the beads of water and made our plants shined…we hugged, shouted, and yelled in ecstasy.

The plants green leaves bursting with energy, every stalk raising its head to the heavens above. And there I was, knee deep into dirt…hands deep into dirt. The worms that crawled through my hands were no longer gross…they showed signs of life. The green of the plants and its sweet aromas enlivened me inside. My heart was at another dirt house, where my father resides now, telling him what beautiful "life" my friend and I have planted. It was showing me answers…

Every week, I found myself expanding the garden. And bless my friend’s heart, she never complained and only helped. I even started to plant the front of the house with flowers and bushes. She jokingly said that I was going to turn the whole backyard into a garden. If she only knew…

The satisfaction didn’t just end on planting. Every day, I found myself out there; sweating, pulling weeds, and feeding them accordingly. I was often sad when I’d accidentally kill one or step on one…but thank goodness for my friend’s patience. She'd just say to me, “others will flourish…”

I don’t have children, but I acted like an over protective father, always watering and looking outside whenever I’d get a chance. And if I see any squirrels or rabbits or moles, I would be terrified with paranoia…that they were gonna eat my kids!!! But my friend taught me to relax, to understand that is nature…I could say that my biggest fear was that I was afraid the eggplants would elope with the tomatoes without my eating them first....

And as the garden bloomed, all signs of life came about. Beautiful dragonflies I had never seen before hung around the house. All sorts of insects, good and bad came and hung around the stalks and leaves. Spiders, frogs, even toads paid visits and I’d find them throughout the yard.

I found myself finding beauty in all life…

The motley colors of different spiders that I was oblivious to before because all I wanted to do was swat them and get them out of my face, are now the catchers of the annoying mosquitoes.

The toad that had gotten a bad rap in the fairy tales, is now a prince in catching my pests.

The bees and the different dragonflies, darting from bulb to bulb as if dancing an air ballet.

The butterflies adorn the flowers with their magnificent beauty. As their wings flutter up and down and about the garden. My smile flutters with it.Gardening has taught me about life.

Whenever I killed something, it taught me that there are others that will come to life. Whenever something was harvested, it taught me the sweetness and the satisfaction that came and after labor. It taught me that dirt not only took in the dead, it also sprouted life. Most of all, it taught me that life is a cycle. A cycle of balance. Watering is a balance, too much or too little can kill plants easily. Same thing with feeding them too much or too little.

Life amongst the insects world also taught me about life. It showed me that wherever life flourishes, it attracts another life.

A flower of an eggplant is a flower of an eggplant. It isn’t like the roses I have planted out front, but I have seen bees hung around both. There was no need for the eggplant flower to be funny or pretty to attract the bee. And the eggplant flower is just as beautiful to me as the rose.

A spider isn’t picky about where it is either, it has webs wherever the wind takes her. And it isn’t picky about her dinner. It is whatever may fly into her net.

It's shown me that I only have to be myself; that I’ll attract those that will come. I think my dad may have learned that toward the end. And in looking back, none of those friends he’s made in his life were worth anything…

There are so much to say about gardening…I am just glad to say that I am lucky to have found it earlier than I have expected, not old and decrepited.

So, to my father, who is lying in “dirt,” I know you are NOT alone…and I AM, the fruit of your labor. And I hope to prosper, bloom, and make you proud one day...

I love you, papa...

(© 2009: Ed F.)

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(my father, Piter, passed away a few years ago in July...I didn't get to know him until after he passed away...these are just some of the reflections and life lessons I've learned since his passing...To you, mon papa...) (written around July 2004)