Digging Potatoes

My Grandpa Joe has always been up there with Clark Kent in my eyes. He seems to transform to be the man for the job in most every situation. He is 87 now, and gets more done in a day then most. He has the wisdom of Solomon it seems. :) Yet gently voices it just at the right times and not for his recognition.

Gabe and I went to visit Grandma and Grandpa the other day along with my aunt Carolyn and cousin Tatum. The drive there brought Fall goose bumps offering more refreshment than a cold glass of lemonade in July. :) Yet the best part by far was being at the Floyd ranch on Mushroom road. Some would compare it to the Garden of Eden. (since their address really is Eden) We were welcomed by the fallen hickory nuts, the heavy laiden apple trees, Uncle Rich's 30 some cows, and the smell of late September. (Grandpa always says that the sun doesn't feel better than it does in late September. ) Grandma always greets us at the door with smiles, hugs, and kisses. Never once felt like I was taking up her time. Hospitality in the truest sense.

Grandpa was out in the garden with his pitchfork ish looking gizmo and his sturdy red walker. He makes due with the knees and hips that he has, shuffling along cautious he doesn't fall. I don't pretend to know the feeling of having a body that doesn't work like it used to. I look at Gabe and am thankful that he doesn't know the joys of being able to walk and run without falling. Because the frustration could be a bit overwhelming. But imagine our elderly who know exactly what once was and isn't anymore. God never designed our hearts and minds to struggle through such times. With what my grandparents and seen and done and still do today, I can't imagine what grandma and grandpa think when I complain of not having a washer or dryer or being stuck in traffic.

It turns out that grandpa was digging out his potatoes from his garden of Eden so that Carolyn and I could take some home. He spent practically all summer planting, weeding, watering, watching, waiting, and now harvesting....all so that he could dig up his and grandma's potatoes for someone who often times eats a chip without thinking twice about the work that went into it. I am sure that he set aside that whole morning so that he could get those potatoes out for us. Literally the whole morning. He disappeared just after lunch to go in the basement to get us some bags to put them in, put his shoes back on, shuffled back on out to the garden to pack up our potatoes.

If only I could always remember the thoughtfulness, selflessness, and love that went into digging those potatoes that morning...