|Grandpa Dwight as a young farm boy.|
Past the patio was an expanse of lawn and off to one side, an island shaped flower bed that my grandmother tended. I paid little heed to the lawn, or even the flower bed. My attention was always drawn by the edible garden.
Grandpa built his own irrigation system for the garden rows with 5 gallon buckets. I never cared to know the details of his system as a child, but I surely wish to know them now. We only entered his garden when invited, and we were only invited to help, usually with the harvest. He kept Grandmother busy during the growing season with all manner of fruits and vegetables to preserve. We often found her canning in the kitchen. My favorites from her canned goods were canned cherries, which you pitted as you ate, and her grape juice concentrate. Both stained everything they came in contact with, both a luscious treat to my young taste-buds.