We stopped beside my mother’s grave.
Dad carried a small paper bag to her headstone.
Inside was the finest tomato he’d harvested that week.
He placed it gently on the stone.
“Eleven houses this week, Marta,” he whispered. “And forty-two families on Saturday. That’s our best yet.”
He paused.
“And that neighbor boy is going to be all right. June’s son. He’s learning.”
Dad touched the headstone.
“I haven’t missed a Friday, sweetheart. Not one.”
That was a year ago.
Today, the garden is officially registered as the Marta Lindqvist Community Garden.
Tyler helped secure the permit in just six weeks.
Brent withdrew his complaint and eventually surprised everyone by removing half his expensive lawn to create additional growing space.
He built a wooden gate between the two properties.
It hangs slightly crooked, but Dad loves it.
Brent’s mother moved into his home before Thanksgiving. She now tends the squash and advises everyone about planting potatoes.
