Rick Watson
Syndicated Writer
Sunday, Apr 12, 2009

My grandmother, Liddy Watson, lived next to us in West Pratt when I was younger. She lived in a small frame house covered with tarpaper. The inside was insulated with cardboard boxes nailed on the ceiling and walls to keep the winter wind at bay.

Her house wasn’t much to look at, but her garden was a different story. 

Good Friday was a special day on her calendar, not only for religious reasons, but because it signaled the “official” start of the planting season.

This time of year, she studied the Farmer’s Almanac almost as much as she read her Bible.  While the Good Book provided nourishment for the soul, the Almanac gave instructions on how to nourish the body with fresh snap beans, okra, corn, tomatoes and lettuce.

“The Almanac tells you the best days of the month to do your business,” she instructed. Tapping a crooked finger on the chart, “you always have to mindful of the signs.” 

“You need to plant your onions and cucumbers when the signs are in the thighs,” she said.  “It’s also a good time ask for a job, deal with lawyers, judges, and bankers,” she said with authority. “When the signs are in the knees, you plant your root crops like peanuts and taters.” “It’s also the best time to get a tooth pulled.” It sounded like she knew this from experience.

I’m guessing that modern farmers and scientists would scoff at the practice of “planting by the signs”, but it’s hard to argue with the results she obtained from her little garden.

She grew more food than she could eat, so she shared baskets of fresh vegetables with friends and neighbors.  Her vine-ripe tomatoes were as big as softballs.

She planted climbing pole beans on the side of her rickety front porch and they grew up a web of string almost to the tin roof.  She could pick a mess for supper right off the porch.  As an added benefit, the plants shaded her porch from the afternoon sun.

She reused almost everything. Granny had old car tires that someone converted into planters by cutting off the top half of the tire down to the inner band. The band served as a handle for the planter. She put dirt and planted flowering moss with candy-like flowers in the bottom half. She hung these planters across the front of her porch.

Her yard was a hummingbird heaven and they darted from flower to flower tanking up on fresh nectar.  I saw some of the most beautiful butterflies at her house that I have ever seen.

Later in the summer, she spent most of her time preparing food for canning. I was young, but she enlisted me to help peel tomatoes, chop okra, and shave corn off the cobs with a knife as sharp as a razor.

She’d place the quart Mason Jars of canned food on every available surface in the kitchen to cool. And when the evening light filtering through the back door screen, the canned fruit, and vegetables took on the appearance of an Old Master’s painting.

When all the pots and pans from her day’s work were washed and stored, she’d sit on the front porch to kick back and rest her heels. She would always put a pinch of Bruton Snuff between her gum and lower lip while we sat out there and talked.

I credit my Grandma Watson with passing on her love of gardening to me.  After a long cold winter, I’ve been anxiously awaiting for Good Friday to plant my garden.  I can’t wait to eat my first juicy vine-ripe tomato. 

Happy Easter, and may your garden be bountiful.