a letter from the editor Erin Pickering Communications Coordinator, FIPOA
There is something about spring that entices people to get outside, tend to their yard, and embrace growth. My grandfather Edison /(Pap) was an avid gardener. And by avid, I mean, it was his passion, and he tried to make us passionate about it as well. I spent many summers in Tennessee on the farm. Often our days included picking beans, canning vegetables, and if I am telling the truth, I was not a fan of it (insert laughter here). The days would start early with him hollering, “you better roll out of there,” meaning, get up, come have breakfast, and be ready to go down to the garden. It wasn’t all the time, but there were many days spent in the Phillips Garden. At the time, my Pap would bore me with details about tilling the soil and the importance of prepping in the springtime. In his distinct southern raspy deep voice, he would talk about which seeds we were planting and how we had to cultivate the ground for the late spring and early summer planting. As I would tune him out, he would discuss the garden’s watering, but mostly how to keep those pesky critters out of it. Ask me sometime about the gopher story... My brother and I would no doubt complain at some point, but he would only reply with, well, you want to enjoy the fried squash and okra later in the summer, don’t ya?” Then he would flash that irresistible up to no good grin and laugh. It looked like a lot of hard work, but I’ve come to realize that the time he spent in his garden was his way of unwinding as much as it was just in his nature to be outside and work. He was, after all, a Tennessee family farm boy at heart. Anything he touched seemed to grow magically. He had the green thumb. I, however, did not inherit that trait. I assumed that because I was horrible at keeping indoor plants alive, I would be better at growing things outdoors. That I had a good enough
