Grandpa Golden

The first time I visited the house that was to become my home, I fell in love.   The large corner lot, with so much open space to create my dream garden in, lured me in.  The compact and comfortable house appealed to my sustainable heart.

The fact that the house came on my radar within 2 hours of my decision to move and within 36 hours it was mine, was just further validation –

I’m supposed to be here.

I have never felt at home as fast as I have here.   Except for scraping my knuckles against the textured plaster wall my first night (smaller room, smaller bed…I chose to flop around like I was still sleeping in a king!)  the ‘settling in’ phase was nearly non-existent.   I’ve moved 24 times in my life –  I know a little about moving and settling in – usually a three-month process, at best.

The first month, I would often stand outside the house – gazing upon the huge lot, envisioning raised beds, composting piles, a back walled fence with mountain grapes climbing it and most importantly, just where to put the meditation circle made of growing things with a stone bench in the middle.

I felt safe, secure and loved in my new home.

This week, I found out why – –


One of the utility workers who service my new home grew up across the street from my house.  While I and others referred to the place by the name of those who had occupied it from 1968 or so, he remembered who had lived here before them – Grandpa Golden.    Who had the biggest garden you ever saw.

“This whole backyard was garden,” he said, sweeping his arm wide.    “The trucks were parked out front – because there was no room back here.    His garden was always so abundant.   I remember he used to sharpen our hoes and once in awhile, he’d come over and hoe our garden, as well.  Everyone had a garden back then.   That was how you ate.   Seems like gardening is just a hobby now.”

I assured him I hoped to be a part of the generation that brought the ‘kitchen garden’ back as a staple of fine living.   Secretly, I couldn’t wait for him to leave, so I could talk to Grandpa Golden – – Gardener Extraordinaire.

“Hi, Grandpa Golden.   I hope my plans for your land are meeting with your approval.    I’ll try real hard not to do anything that would find dis-favor in your eyes.   I’m still new to this, so if you think something needs to be done differently, feel free to change it.   I’m so glad you’re around to help.”

Silly, perhaps, to believe the previous owner might somehow bless my gardening attempts into success, but I still get a warm glow whenever I think about Grandpa-Green-Thumb-Golden.

Yup, I really have landed in the perfect place – I’m sure there is a Gardening Angel lurking about…

Bountiful Harvest
Bountiful Harvest

3 thoughts on “Grandpa Golden”

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