This morning my husband asked why I haven’t mentioned that he is the son of a gardener. So, here’s to my husband and his papa.
My husband’s father was a wonderful man. As a Japanese American and U.S. Citizen, he worked in an import/export company in San Francisco prior to WWII. When the war broke out, he and his young family were transported to an internment camp. After the war, there was so much ill will toward Japanese Americans that he could only get work as a gardener. But he never complained and he never became bitter. He was a good husband and a good father. He came to love his own garden as a place of refuge and peace, and my husband learned a lot from him.
In our garden today, my husband does the heavy lifting. In recent days he eradicated an infestation of termites in one of our wooden posts and re-sealed the rest of them. He sawed off a dead branch from the tree in our shade corner, and he had the courtyard gate repaired. Throughout the year, he trims the bushes and inspects our stucco and roof for repairs. For all these things and many others, including saving the last of the blueberries for me yesterday, he is God’s gift to me.