Dear Paw Paw, I remember being a kid and you asking me if I wanted a salad while I was sitting in the dining area of your old shotgun house on Pressburg Street at the card table where you ate your meals at home. I nodded and was mildly astonished when you cut up an entire tomato fresh from your garden, added oil, vinegar, salt & pepper, and then handing me the bowl like a Magi offering up frankincense and myrrh, or, better still, like a Greek god dishing up nectar and ambrosia since we were mere steps away from the neutral ground on Elysian Fields. That salad was like a delicious epiphany, and the first real Life Hack I had ever witnessed. Before this moment, lettuce had been just the thing you had to tolerate in order to get to eat tomatoes. (I still feel a trace of guilt when I recall stealing a cherry tomato off the salad bar at a Western Sizzlin on the way out the door.) There in that moment was my favorite thing about salads suddenly and deliciously liberated. The rest of the ingredients and preparation didnt need to be fooled with. I was given permission to enjoy only the best part and to forget about all that other stuff. Looking back on my history since that moment, I probably shouldnt have patterned my life on that approach, essentially turning a healthy snack into a philosophy of devout hedonism. Ive had some grand memories, sure, but also missteps and outright failures that have often directly resulted from my reaching only for the good parts and neglecting or ignoring the rest. All I know at this point is that the way ahead is murkier than a midnight garden under a new moon sky poisoned by clouds. And even now, despite my uncertainties about the future, I can almost taste that salad, I still love vine ripened tomatoes, and I will always miss you, Paw Paw. I wish now that I had also shown an interest in your teaching me how to cultivate a garden of my own. Its certainly never too late to learn, but I know Google and YouTube and even books are poor substitutes for your presence. Still, I must set about the task of tending the soil, nourishing the plants, pulling the weeds, fending off the insects, and all the rest. What I can do in your absence, though, is to do the work and to dedicate the fruit of these labors to you. While I toil, may you rest in eternal peace. Its taken me three decades to understand the lesson, but I want to thank you for it now. Sincerely, Your grandson, Brant
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 17:46:24 +0000