Growing up, my yard did not have a swing set or a pool or grass for that matter. We did, however, have my Nonno’s garden. Tomatoes, basil, mint, figs and cucumbers. From mid July to September, I was sent into the yard to tear a leaf of basil and pick tomatoes off the vine.
Today, living in the burbs, the lawns are manicured, the swing sets are intricate and the pools spa-like. In our yard, we have a small garden and a compost (thanks to my husband’s dedication and hard work). In early June, my husband turns the soil and plants the seeds. He waters them daily and we wait patiently.
In mid July, our basil and cucumber crops mature. I send my children out to tear a leaf or two of basil and pick a cucumber for the dinner’s salad.
Today, on the cusp of August, I picked our first crop of tomatoes. And for a few short moments, I am eleven years old again in my Nonno’s garden.
My Nonno is now ninety-four years young and his yard no longer yields the crops it once did.
But this very first and very fresh bushel is for him.