Corn For The Widows

Grandpa and I spent a lot of time driving around town in his ‘48 Plymouth.  It was pretty beat up.  The trunk lid was very heavy and wouldn’t stay up by itself so Grandpa used an old broomstick to prop it open.  You didn’t want to inadvertently knock out that stick while you were leaning into the trunk.  I speak from experience.  The dog rode in that trunk and he went almost everywhere with us.  We would go pick asparagus on the ditch banks, try to find the sheep, visit with friends, scout for wood that he could get for the winter, or just ride around looking.  One of the things he did made such an impression on me that I remember it vividly still.  He grew a very large garden each year.  Corn, potatoes, peas, and squash were staples.  He grew enough potatoes that each fall we could store many, many burlap bags full in a root cellar.  They would last all winter and when spring came he would use the best of the rest as seed potatoes for that year’s crop.  Despite all that use, we would ultimately throw some away each spring, their long, white sprouts sometimes getting over two feet long.  He grew long rows of corn that I helped weed.  Now that I’m older I’m certain he grew way more than he needed.  He certainly had been affected by the Great Depression but he also grew enough to share with others if the need arose.  I saw this trait in him often.  He always shared what he grew and he grew much more than he needed.  I would help him dig new potatoes, pick the corn and peas and load them into the trunk of that old Plymouth.  Once the car was loaded he would begin a meandering route home.  He would stop at the homes of several widows, deliver them some of the produce we’d harvested, and visit.  I know they appreciated the corn and potatoes, but I now know they enjoyed and appreciated the visits even more.  Loneliness is a devastating enemy.  Grandpa never got too busy that he couldn’t, at least for a brief time, try to relieve that burden in their lives.  As he did this year after year, his care for and interest in them was ample evidence of how genuine his concern was.  I really admired that quality in him.  Being able to spend so much of my youthful time with my Grandfather was a great blessing.  I was able to observe him in so many circumstances and take note of how he acted.  I watched closely enough to determine what was important to him.  I have yet to reach his level of love for others but I still want to be like him.  I should note that Grandpa’s 48 Plymouth didn’t look anywhere near this nice when I first became familiar with it.