Portrait of the Gardener As a Young Boy

I guess I'm in a bit of a nostalgic and sentimental mood of late ... perhaps it's been the brilliant full moon, with its oddly autumnal hue of red that we've seen the past few nights, or my somewhat morose reflections on the occasion of my birthday a couple of weekends ago .... For whatever reason, I kept thinking about this photo that my sister found and gave me a few years ago ... this is me, at about age seven, I think, with Spike, my first dog. My parents had gotten me a beagle when I was about four, but Pixie (who I barely remember, other than she excelled at biting me) was quickly dispatched to "a farm where she would be happier," and though I cried at her leaving, my parents assured me it was for the best and that I would get another dog. Well, it took a few years, but then somehow my Dad heard about a litter of Fox Terrier puppies someone had in an adjacent small town, and one day we went there to see if we could find an appropriate puppy for me. Well, there was this one, a scrawny little guy with a half black, half white face who seemed rather calm compared to the other livelier puppies running around the yard ... my Dad and I instantly agreed that he was the one for me, and we took him home.

We almost lost Spike within a week or so, as he hadn't had any shots yet, he was full of worms and then developed a very nasty case of distemper. My Dad took him to the vet and we got the de-worming pills he needed, but learned that he already had the distemper, which at the time, they could do nothing for, and it very often killed infected puppies. I was crushed, as I recall, because I was sure that the cute little guy who was my dog was going to die. But my Dad also had fallen in love with Spike and he told me we'd do whatever we could to work him through the distemper and that not all dogs died from it, but that he would be very sick for a while. We kept him in a wooden fruit crate lined with old blankets and throw rugs right next to the heat vent in the kitchen, fed him whatever he would eat and did our best to nurse him through the illness. About all I remember is that he was very listless, coughed constantly and had a runny nose and eyes ... but each day, it seemed (at least to me), he appeared to get a little better.

Eventually, after some time (I can't remember how long, but it seemed like weeks to me!), he recovered from the distemper and we had a feisty, active and very ornery puppy on our hands. I was delighted, because I had a best friend finally, and he was all mine. Spike was a typical terrier his first few years ... he enjoyed tearing things up, causing a lot of mischief, ran away from home at every chance he got, and even managed to father a litter or two of puppies of his own. But oddly enough, he never quite bonded with me, much to my chagrin. He adored my Dad and would do anything for him, while ignoring my pleas for attention, though he was never overtly mean to me ... he just favored my Dad, as can be typical with terriers. So, I accepted my lower position in his worldview and I still adored him, even if he was a bit indifferent to me ....

About two years later we were visiting my sister when she was living in my parents' home town when she brought home an adorable beagle-fox terrier mix puppy. As she was just recently married and living in an apartment, she found out that she just couldn't keep the new puppy while she lived there, so my parents very reluctantly agreed to keep her with us until she had a place where she could have her. (And of course that never happened!) Snoopy (as I would eventually name her) was the antithesis of Spike ... she adored me from the get go and bonded with me almost instantly. My earliest memory of her was falling asleep with her in the back seat of the car on the journey home and awaking to find that she had gotten sick and thrown up on the seat beside me as we slept. I didn't care. This dog was truly mine! Fortunately, Snoopy got along famously with Spike from the beginning and they made excellent companions for each other, though quite the opposites. Where Spike was dominant and somewhat overbearing, Snoopy was submissive, obedient and only wanted to please. Finally, I had the kind of dog who would play with me, sleep with me (though that was forbidden by my parents, I sneaked her into bed anyway), and obviously thought I was the greatest boy around. She never minded if I cried my eyes out holding her when someone had tormented me at school, and she truly seemed to understand me and feel for me during the whole of my miserable experience of living in and going to school in an intolerant little redneck town in rural Iowa. In short, she was my lifeline to love given freely, honestly and only as a dog can give it ... unconditionally.

I could write a book about these dogs, and maybe one day I should, but suffice to say, where my Dad had Spike, I had Snoopy, and this pair of dogs made living there a lot more tolerable. When I went away to college, Snoopy used to sneak up to my room every chance she got and my mom would find her sleeping on my bed, exactly where she used to when I disobeyed and sneaked her into my room at night. And when I came home from school on breaks, she would not let me out of her sight, and apparently (according to my mom) cried for days after I would leave. She eventually developed severe diabetes and had to be put to sleep while I was away at school. That was a very hard time for me, as it is for anyone who has lost a dog or pet they truly love. And apparently, Spike started declining and pining away for Snoopy after she was gone, and shortly after, he developed testicular cancer and had to be put to sleep as well ...and my parents never again had a dog in their house. My Dad buried both of them side by side under an old lilac bush in the back yard. And to be honest, as much as I loathed that town I grew up in and have visited only against my will in the intervening years, I would one day like to go back to that house and visit them back there ... that is, if the lilac itself still exists. I have no idea if it does, but that would be perhaps the only motivation for me to ever return there ....

I suppose it seems that this post has very little to do with gardening, other than you can see some of the flowers I used to help my Dad tend on the south side of my childhood home. You see, Dad was the one who planted the gardening bug in me ... every year he would order his vegetable and flower seeds from Gurney's in Yankton, ND, and they always had a one-cent Kids' Surprise Pack of seeds that he would order for me. It was a little packet of seeds that to receive rivaled Christmas in the wonder of what might eventually come from these (to my childhood view at least) miraculous little things that came in the brightly colored pack with the picture of a cartoon child with a trowel and watering can on the front.

My Dad tilled up a little bed for me by the steps at the back of the house and that was where I had my first garden. I would take my precious seeds, plant them carefully (with my Dad's guidance, since these packs often contained things such as corn or beans, as well as flower seeds), tend them diligently and marvel at the green shoots that would burst from the ground, much to my delight. That's how I remember planting my first flower seeds, things such as Four O'Clocks, Balsam, Zinnias and Marigolds. When they bloomed for me, I was ecstatic! For my young, inquisitive mind, these first attempts at gardening made me feel a real connection with the earth, something that I still feel to this day ... There's a lot to be said for tending the earth and making things grow from it. That's the precious lesson my Dad taught me with those packets of seeds. I owe my Dad for a lot of good things he taught me over the years, but the joy of gardening is definitely the most important one I keep close to my heart and cherish. Though he's been dead for 23 years now, I think he'd actually be proud of me now for carrying on the gardening tradition in our family.

And I must say that I often think of him when I'm planting seeds. And I've never forgotten those Kids' Packs of seeds from Gurney's. I've heard that that nursery doesn't exist anymore, but it always will in my heart. My Dad really cashed in big time on those one cent packs of seeds ....