Grandpa was a gardener at heart. Raised on a farm, his love for the earth and growing things was evident in everything he did. As his favorite grandson, I spent hours and hours with him in the garden every summer. Under the hot summer sun, he shared his love for the land, and it has never left me. Although he was a strong man - one who would never have shown tenderness in front of others, I saw how tenderly he treated a fragile new shoot; how lovingly he tended a delicate flower until it blossomed to perfection.

People came from miles and miles around to admire the beauty of his garden. They always left with arms full of flowers. His greatest pleasure in life was sharing the beauty of his garden with others - even though he never could have expressed it that way. On the outside, he was a tough man with no emotions. But I knew better.

Grandpa loved dahlias most of all. So wherever I go, I plant them in his memory. My two children are beginning to learn to carry on the tradition. When they take a bouquet to their teacher or to a neighbor, I can't help but think he is smiling down on them. It makes me proud to see my children sharing a part of his tradition with others. They never knew him, but a part of him lives on in them.

So if they bring you a bouquet, or perhaps a funny brown tuber for you to plant in your garden, they are sharing a part of their heritage with you. Let it remind you that you too may be remembered long after you are gone - perhaps in a way you never expected.

Lee Shurie
August 1998