Page 17 - Contrast2007
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The Garden Society
c:::
Jenna Swartz
. ~he men in my family live in the garden. garage, frequently, about their second chil-
This IS the way it always has been and, I ex- dren: the African grasses, the tomato plants,
the hydrangeas.
pect, the way it always will be. Able to name
"Give them time before you uproot
plants like they are old friends my grand-
'em."
father and father share not only the same "They'll be fine."
"Not if you want a turn out."
nam~, Glenn Morrell Swartz, they share this "Those hydrangeas need a miracle."
"Yeah, I'll start praying, I'm lookin' into
passIon. When I think of Pap and Dad they
come fram a common root, leaves from' one it Dad."
tree. I've grown up beside them, but I didn't The banter is good natured, but the topic
is serious. Plants are a way of life for the two
turn out quite like they did. Idon't have the strong males Ilook to for support. While I've
s.a,me passio. n. My roots are different. Maybe always had that support, I didn't often have
their attention growing up. Ilearned early on
It s because they grew in the same place each that Imust join the speculation about the fate
of the hanging baskets on the porch or leave
outside of Pittsburgh. ' the conversation. Certainly, I didn't possess
the knack for flowers and grass my father had
10 I've often connected my grandfather's inherited. Dad often told me not to be wor-
ried, the family gift of gardening would come
p:e of the garden to his humble beginnings. in time. When Iwas little, Iwaited and wait-
f P Was the second oldest child in a family
ed for this gift to arrive.
~ ten and lived in a place called Highland As a child, almost every Sunday I spent
rove, the poorest section on the outskirts
with them outside in our sprawling back-
baf kthe C.Ity. All ten kids worked in the town yard. There were the sunny days of spring
fla ery. Pap's job was to dust the rolls with spent mulching, with the arresting smell of
fertilizer filling the air and long autumn after-
i OUrbefore they were baked. He used to get noons devoted to raking leaves and spread-
ing seeds. But the summer sundays were my
.n trouble for daydreaming instead of rnak- favorite to spend with my dad and grandfa-
ther when the three of us would stay outside
~g bread. He'd dream away those morn- in the dark warmth, watching the lightening
bugs blink on and off and the moon come out
Ing shifts, anticipating the time, when, after in full. I'd watch them sitting tall on the tra.c-
tor or methodically planting bul~s - s~-
;ork, he could lay in the grass and be among ing and peaceful. Sometimes I tried pullmg
weeds beside them, examining the cr~cks of
Of; green. .It'd still be afternoon when he got the patio sidewalk instead of uproo~g the
after bemg at the bakery since 5 a.m. Pap little green things. The ;V0.rkwas tedIOUSto
me, but I knew it wasn t like that for them.
:~ent ~very last hour of light in the field, play-
g WIth his brothers.
a ."We had an outhouse when most people
g t Indoor plumbing" he'd tell us "but we
sure diid have the bloo'ms." '
To my grandfather, blooms surpassed
;ost everything else. This was an adora-
~n that quickly grew in my father, creating
~ and I have always wanted to duplicate. I
ave long wondered about my place in their
exclus'ive cu1b. My dad and grandfather tune
tevlekriyth' mg and everyone out when they start
a mg about their yards. It's something I've
blearned ,WI.t h ti.me, to apprecia.te rather th an
egrudge.
The two can still be heard arguing in the
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