Through the eyes of a child

Ever since this Spring, when my grandson Kaleb was about 6 months old, a visit to my gardens has been a nearly daily ritual.  Back then I had to carry him and we began to develop a routine, visiting the plants in a specific order, and for the most part that hasn't changed.  Slowly he began to let me know he wanted to go outside by pointing out the window or the French door to the back yard and as he started to talk, pretty soon, it was "Outside".  Now he walks, but the rounds still haven't change; first the petunias, where he'll stand with his arms outstretched until I pick him up so he can see and touch them, one planter, then the other.  Next it's off to the potted mint for a touch and a smell, then back to terra firma so he can run to the salvia, then the rosemary, the peppers, okra and back again, until he's had his fill of touching and discussing each one.  If the roses are in bloom, he has to stick his nose into them to check their delicate perfume.  Before leaving the backyard, it's time for some swing and slide action, broad grin plastered on his face and loud laughter shaking his body; I can't help but smile and laugh myself.

Next it's off to the front yard to visit Larry and Chuck, give them a pat or a poke and then once or twice or three times around the yard, checking the grapevines, the basil which he loves to touch, but won't smell, too pungent I guess.  He has to check out all the potted plants and depending on the time of year, the yard decorations.  It wasn't until we started these tours of the garden that I really began to appreciate the texture of  plants, not just how they look, but how they feel to the touch; the sticky fuzziness of petunias, the coarseness of cucurbites and okra, the softness of basil, all have become part of my garden experience.

Kaleb's parents are hoping to buy a place of their own soon, and while it would be great for them, I know I'll miss our daily sojourns in the garden most of all.