Legacy Gardening: What My Dad Taught Me in the Garden

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A tribute to work, memory, and the stories that took root in the soil—and in me

I didn’t grow up gardening as a hobby. In our Romanian small town, gardening was how we lived.

My family grew vegetables for a living—rows upon rows of tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants in the summer, and onions, radishes, and cabbages during the spring, all planted by hand, weeded by hand, watered by hand. I was small, but I learned early how to work the garden. And though I didn’t always love the long days bent over rows and the inevitable mud that clung to my shoes like cement, I loved the rhythm of it. The seasons. The knowing.

But what I really loved—what I still miss—were the overnight or early morning drives with my dad to the market. That’s when the real magic happened.

🚜 From Garden to Market: The Lessons in Between

We’d load up an old SUV that spoke of an era way past its time with crates and boxes and piles of vegetables, cramming them in every single nook and cranny —mud still clinging to roots, the scent of fresh herbs rising in the morning air. It was hard work, but there was a kind of excitement to it. We were going somewhere. We had something to share.

And on the way to the market, driving through country roads, my dad would tell stories, stories about every village and town we’d cross, about simpler times and long-forgotten customs, stories about values deeply rooted in the land we cherished so deeply.

He’d talk about his childhood. About the old ways of growing things, and what he’d learned by trial and error. About how every season teaches you something different—about the weather, the land, and yourself. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember the feeling: that I was safe, seen, and part of something real.

🧺 The Beauty of the Market

Once we got there, I was in heaven.

I loved setting up the tables. I loved watching people come and go, picking through the beans, touching the peppers, asking about prices. I loved the buzz of it all—the neighbors, the laughter, the occasional haggling over tomatoes. I was proud of our produce. Proud of the work behind it. My favorite was arranging the tomatoes in small pyramids on the tables just right, with the flawless ones in the front! The best part was sticking my hand into the apron to grab some change for the ice cream or cotton candy machine!

There was nothing fancy about it. But it was beautiful. It was life. It was happiness.

🌱 What My Dad Really Taught Me

Yes, I learned how to grow vegetables—how to hill potatoes, thin carrots, and irrigate cucumbers without drowning them. But the real lessons went deeper:

• Steadiness — Show up every day, even when you’re tired. Especially when you’re tired.
• Care — Treat every plant like it matters. Because it does.
• Dignity in work — The world may not see the labor behind those green beans. But God does.
• Joy — Even in hard work, even in dust and heat, there is joy. Especially when you’re together.

He never framed it as “teaching.” He just lived it, and I soaked it in like rain on dry soil.

🪴 Now I Garden with a Different Purpose

Today, in my small suburban raised beds, I still feel that inheritance.

I use modern tools. I grow for joy and for health, not for the market. But the spirit is the same. I still wake early. I still listen to the soil. I still think of my dad when I see a perfect bell pepper or when I smell sun-warmed tomato vines. I still whisper those old stories to myself as I harvest, as I write, as I teach others to garden too.

His legacy lives on—not just in what I grow, but in how I live.

💬 Your Turn: What Did Your Dad Teach You?

Did you grow up gardening with your dad or grandfather? Or maybe you came to it later in life, discovering your own rhythm?

This Father’s Day season, I invite you to reflect:

• What memories do you carry from time spent in the garden or at the market?
• What lessons did your father figure plant in you?
• What stories still echo in your hands when you pull a weed or water a seedling?

Share in the comments, or message me. I’d love to hear about the gardens—and the gardeners—who shaped you.

🌾 Let’s Keep Planting Legacy

Gardening isn’t just about growing food. It’s about growing memory, meaning, and belonging. My dad may not have had the time to write it all down—but he wrote it into me.

And now, I pass it on—with a trowel in hand, dirt under my nails, and his stories still blooming in my heart.

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