We All Had Our Own Gardens

Rose early, dressed fast.
quick grocery store run 
already eight-one degrees. glad car has air.
brought home fresh vegetables
out of someone else’s garden
feeling weird about that

When I was a child we all had gardens
shared produce with our neighbors
at the clothes lines, no fence lines
free range people where I grew up
small town southern Iowa
poorest dirt in the state

Delabettas had corn and tomatoes first.
Edna across the street brought over radishes and carrots
Our mother took gardening seriously.
We were out on a real farm in the country
from six to ten every morning.
We had an excess of everything.

The Pelligrinos brought over their watermelon,
which was always a treat. 
And the Ingrams had pumpkins, but later,
more toward autumn
None of us would have bought fresh vegetables
out of someone else’s garden.
It would have seemed weird.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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Gilmour Avatar
July 22, 2019 at 4:30 AM
Gosh Caren, they were the days when people spoke to each other and were there for each other. My mother was just like that and after she died neighbours told my Dad so many tales of her kindness, despite not having a great deal herself. How sad life has changed and lots of people now live in total isolation not even knowing who their neighbours are. Your poem is wonderful and took me back to a much nicer time... With kindest thoughts Ann xx
Krutsinger Avatar
July 22, 2019 at 5:16 AM
I am so glad. I live in the country. The next house is a block up, and I adore the lady who lives there. Unfortunately, she has dementia. The house after that is occupied by a woman who works all the time, and has four boys in their twenties. I do not even see them for they wisely drive the other way out of this little area. The next house is a widow who is the head of the Republican committee, so she is gone all the time. That is my street actually.
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