The Garden Where Childhood Grew:
Where Soil Held Memories.

When Daniel was a tender, young boy, his father kept one tiny garden at the backdoor. Nothing so grand: some tomato vines and a row of sunflowers along the fence.
Early, a while before dawn, his dad would slide outside with a watering can. Daniel often watched from his bedroom window. His dad moved slowly, his knees in the earth, patting the soil, trimming leaves. Some days, Daniel would run out to join him.

“Why do you do this every day?”  Daniel asked once, tugging on his father’s sleeve.
His dad grinned. “Because things grow when you care for them daily. Not all at once. Not overnight. But little by little.”

At ten years old, Daniel didn’t understand. He wanted fast results. He wanted the tomatoes to burst from the soil in a single week, the sunflowers to tower instantly. His father only chuckled when Daniel grew impatient.

Time flew; Daniel grew busier. School, friends, and later, a job that consumed his days and nights. The merry garden went unnoticed. He’d glance at it sometimes, remembering how his father used to kneel there with earth under his fingernails.

Then one winter, his father became ill. The house felt quieter, as though even time itself had slowed. One morning, Daniel visited his father in his room. The man who had once carried bags of soil on his shoulders now struggled to sit upright.
“Dad,” whispered Daniel, a lump in his throat, “the garden… it’s dying. I don’t know how to keep it alive.”

His father’s voice was weak yet steady. “Then go outside tomorrow. Touch the soil. Water what you can. Pull one weed. Just one. Do that again the next day. The garden will live if you do.”

It was the last clear conversation they had. A week later, Daniel’s father was gone.

That spring, Daniel stood in the garden, feeling the silence weigh on him, sobbing.
He had been taken care of all his life and just couldn’t figure out how to work when every weight was upon his shoulders. His life seemed plain, and all was in despair. He felt abandoned, although he knew he was not. He needed something to birth inspiration within him.
Out there in the garden, the soil was hard. The weeds were thick, and the old tools were rotten with rust. It all seemed hopeless. But then, he remembered his father’s words: Just one weed. Just one.

Thus, out he went the next dawn, removing some weeds. The next day, some more. He trimmed. He watered the soil, his eyes stinging with memories.. Gradually, there came patches of green.

Then came summer, tomatoes dangling heavy on their vines. Against the fence stood the tall sunflowers, swaying in the wind. The fragrance of the fresh grass mixing with the cool air filled with the sound of merry birds chirping sweetly in the branches of the nearby trees.

The neighbours stopped, stared, and marvelled. “You’ve kept it alive,” they said. Daniel nodded, though inside, he knew it wasn’t just the garden he was keeping alive. It was his childhood, his memories that he was keeping alive.

Years later, his own son was now old enough to ask him, “Why do you take care of this every day?”

Daniel knelt down and looked into his son's eyes, muttering:

“Because things grow when you care for them daily. Not all at once. Not overnight. But little by little.”

The young, tender fellow blinked, gave a puzzled shrug, and ran off to play, not understanding.

“One day,” Daniel said with a grin. “One day, you will understand, my boy.”

Author:

Raphael D'Souza