andy's garlic

This week I harvested the garlic that Andy planted for us last fall.  Shock ran through me when I remembered our hours side by side in this dirt and again when the realization hit that this would be the last thing ever growing in the vegetable garden planted by his hand.  How could it be that the garlic he planted stood so big and strong? How could it be that he is gone?

For a little while I was unable to pull the stalks from the ground, I wanted the garlic patch there forever as a reminder of his love and care for us.  He planted this garlic with the intention of being here at harvest, of laying it out to dry in the barn as he does every year, of chopping it finely and adding it to the olive oil in the cast iron pan as he prepared dinner after dinner for us.  

But he's not here and he would want me to tend to the garlic. So I do. Pulling each stalk with quiet mindfulness of his love and care.  Pausing over the last one in gratitude.  Dusting off the dirt hanging from the roots and settling them onto the drying rack in the barn.  What is more precious?  I'm not certain there is a photo or a trinket left behind that means more.  In our barn there lies 50 heads of garlic planted by the hand of my love.  

And now 48, for two went to him with a handful of flowers and elderberries.        

But look, his enduring love.  The orchard he tended is producing! Bright and shiny apples, more than any other year. 

There is a huge hole in our lives, we miss him.  His garlic and apples are reminders we welcome, for his love is everywhere.