My paternal grandfather farmed--as did his father, and his father, and his father before him. Until his early retirement, Granddad also worked for Reynold’s Aluminum Factory near Florence, Alabama. I only knew him after his retirement when he kept three gardens: a flower garden and two vegetable gardens. Living beside my grandparents until I was almost seven years old, I walked along a short dirt path connecting my parent’s property to my grandparent’s, gazing up at the sunflowers towering over seven feet high along the path. “Tommy toe” tomato plants provided a quick snack along the way and there was only a hint of dirt clinging to their skin as I popped them into my mouth, still warm from the sun. The middle garden hosted peppers, beans, cabbages, watermelon, cantaloupe, and peas. Cool summer mornings called for shelling peas and snapping green beans. When the corn ripened, husking was the order of the day. Armed with a small brush, I felt useful and equal to my g
Reflections on life in the South