Slowly, he began transforming the neglected patch of land behind our house into a garden.
At first, it was nothing special.
A few tomato plants. Some beans. A row of potatoes.
I remember watching him kneel in the dirt when I was a teenager.
“What are you planting now?” I asked him one afternoon.
He held up a tiny seed between his fingers.
“Something that takes patience.”
I laughed.
“It’s just a seed, Uncle Ray.”
He smiled without looking up.
“That’s what everybody says before they forget what a seed can become.”
I didn’t understand him then.
As the years passed, the garden grew. Ray added wooden beds, planted fruit trees, collected rainwater in barrels, and built shelves inside an old storage shed. He saved seeds from one harvest to use for the next. He repaired discarded tools instead of buying new ones.
Whenever I asked why he needed so much space for vegetables, he would shrug.
