When I was growing up, my dad had a favorite saying he used when it came to hard work that wasn’t much fun. After we completed our task, he would say something like, “Boy, that was a lot of fun, but just barely.”
I would work alongside him in his massive gardens, picking buckets of squash, green beans, tomatoes and other fresh vegetables. And let me tell you, if you’ve never done it, gardening is hard work.
Dad would do his best to make it sound fun, bragging about his free suntan, free workout, free food and all the money he was saving on groceries. I didn’t think much about it then, but now I know he was right, especially with today’s high food prices.
I never complained about working in the garden because I was happy to do something with him that he truly enjoyed. He took pride in his crops and operated a vegetable stand at his residence, selling his goods for $3 a bag. At the end of growing season and harvest, he took that money and purchased a cow tag to go hunting in Colorado. He did that for over 30 years, so I feel like his hobby paid off.
But, in July when it was nearly 100 degrees with sweat rolling down my face and into my eyes, he would laugh and say, “You know Amos (his nickname for me), this is really a lot of fun, but just barely.”
Then, around 25 years ago, my dad decided it was time that me and my sister, Gina, learn how to plant a garden. I’d had a late night on the town and was sleeping like a rock when I heard my phone ring the next morning. The clock said 7 a.m. and Gina was calling me. I feared a hor r ible emergency because she never called that early and picked up the phone.
“Amie, are you awake?” She asked.
“I am now,’ I said. “Why are you calling me so early?”
“Dad’s here and he said to call you and tell you to get up here,” she said. “He said today is a good day for us to learn how to garden, and he wants us to plant it in my backyard.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, mainly because I was still half asleep but I could never tell my dad no. I told her I was on my way and when I pulled up, dad already had the tiller unloaded, along with a pile of seeds and fertilizer.
We went straight to work as dad guided us through the process, noting that we needed to learn gardening and planting “just in case we ever had to feed ourselves or our families.”
I was sweating profusely as the tiller shook my entire body. I looked at Gina and feared she was close to a heat stroke as she pulled the ruts from the ground I was tilling.
It was a long day and at the end of it, Gina and I could barely move. We were exhausted and I noticed dad had a grin at the corner of his mouth when he piped up, and said, “That was a lot of fun girls, but just barely.”
“Barely?” I asked. “I thought I was going to fall over and die.”
That’s when dad chuckled out loud. I suppose he took one look at us and wanted to agree. But instead, he loaded the tiller up and the remaining cans of Mt. Dew he brought, and left.
Over the next few months, Gina and I were responsible for watering and picking everything that was ripe. When we gathered enough tomatoes to make a bucket full, dad took them to his veggie stand and sold them. The next time he came over, he gave us $10.
“I thought you were selling everything for $3 a bag?” I asked dad. “That made more than three bags worth.”
“I am,” he said. “That’s you and your sister’s part of the profit. Looks like your hard work finally paid off.”
That’s when I gathered up the courage to tell my dad, “I guess, but just barely!”
My dad passed away 11 years ago and I miss the time we spent together in the garden. I was a daddy’s girl and I miss him terribly, and there’s no “just barely” about it.
I hope our readers remember to honor their dad this Father’s Day. Cherish the time you have with them and let them know, before it’s to late.
YES & KNOW
