My Dad’s been gone now for nearly 14 years. Time has, of course, softened the loss but I know that he will always drift into my thoughts when I’m in my garden.
When I happened upon a Fathers’ Day competition in the Diggers Club email inviting members to “share how your father or grandfather shaped your gardening story”, I knew I had to enter. And it seems I struck a chord because I won. This is the brief (75 words or less) entry I composed for the magazine.
My Dad is with me every time I step into my garden. I feel him like the soil between my fingers. I hear him telling me to “fertilise more often” or “prune harder”. He’s in the vase of fragrant sweet peas I plant every year on his birthday. Along with his green thumb, he passed on to me his joy and wonder for nature. I’ll always miss him, but he’s still with me, in my garden.
I was a later bloomer in coming to love gardening considering how huge a role it played in my life but I think Dad would be proud if he could see my garden now.