The Hands I Love
My father could spit out an orange seed and an orange tree would grow.
Not really ... but he had an incredible green thumb.
When he was a younger man, he loved taking cuttings of plants and trees to root in his greenhouse.
In the words of folk singer Greg Brown: new vines from the old dirt now ain't that sweet.
This my dad did.
It always made me sad that he was not able to pursue a career in this hobby he so loved. But he had to quit school in 8th grade to go to work when his dad died, then later a soldier in many battles in WWII, and then a wife and four kids and a job deep under ground in the coal mine to support us all.
A selfless man has very little time for his own desires.
Now nearly 93, he no longer remembers the life his hands created in the earth.
But up until just a few years ago, he was still able to create his green magic.
I have azaleas long languishing in pots to prove it.
What I lacked was the other set of hands to help me plant them. The other set of hands who could recognize my dad's life and love in a few potted azalea plants.
I have found that other set of hands.
This weekend the old dirt will be dug by hands that I love and my dad's last potted azaleas will begin to take root for the spring blossom.