No Photos Necessary

One of my fondest childhood memories is digging up potatoes with my brother Michael and Grandpa Workman on the hill behind their house. I couldn't believe that my grandfather had grown these potatoes...that it was possible for just an average person to GROW potatoes. Of course, I know now that Grandpa Workman was nowhere near average and that he had been an honest-to-goodness farmer before I came along. But that day, on that hill it was like magic digging into the ground and pulling up real potatoes that we could actually eat. Grandpa was so tickled by my amazement each time I found a potato or each time I asked for reassurance that we really could eat them. There was also a wonderful satisfaction in finding those buried treasures and a wonderful comfort in the feeling that my grandpa was so magical.

I was reminded of that long-ago potato adventure today when my father -- Gus and Sam's Grandpa Workman -- stopped in for an unexpected visit. Gus looked up from his dinner and said, "Grandpa," with a shy smile and Sam ran over from the couch to give his grandpa a big hug. Eventually, and not surprisingly, we all ended up outside. We walked the yard of the new house and discussed plans for removing exotic and bringing in native plants. We eventually ended up by an old cement pad that we're told once housed a shed. Ozzie said we'd probably just tear it out and I said I had thought we could put a basketball hoop there for the boys. Soon, we were all picking up and stacking old stones that had been covered from years of growth. We pulled a few weeds and discussed our plans for our new basketball "court". Some of the stones -- which we planned to use out front -- were too embedded to pull up by hand. "Those are going to need a shovel," said Ozzie and Daddy said, "I happen to have one," and before I noticed he was gone, he was back and using the shovel to peel the rocks from the earth. Sam and Gus were close by and at the ready to move and stack the stones. Then they both clamored for the opportunity to use the shovel as well. And their Grandpa Workman was patiently amused with them just as mine had been with me. He helped them stack bricks that Ozzie dug up and then he dug up grass that had overgrown onto the cement as Sam hauled it all to a pile. Before long we'd cleared the outline of the court and the better part of two hours had passed by. The last hours of the day that are usually full of fighting and fussing flew by peacefully in the unseasonably cool breeze which we enjoyed while we worked. Were we working? It sure didn't feel like work. Alas, it was time to return to our routine and get the boys in the bath tub. As we said our goodbyes, that's when the potato memory came back to me and I was thinking how lucky my boys are to have a Grandpa Workman...just like I was. And then, I wished I had thought to grab my camera and snap a few pictures. But, then, I don't have any photographs of the day we dug for potatoes and that memory remains clear as a picture for me.