Son, Go Plow
At the young age of 12 years old my sister and I ended up with our grandparents in West Virginia to finish raising and sending through school.
Grandpa was born in 1898 and Grandma was born in 1903. They both was raised in families that did big gardens to feed all of their children. If you didn’t garden you didn’t eat. So a big portion of their time was dedicated to growing and preserving food.
They continued that tradition and mind set even when we kids ended up at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s after our mama died.
Grandpa was in charge of the vegetable garden and we all have to help. Grandma looked after the flower beds, potted plants. And believe you me she had flower beds everywhere she could put one and potted plants inside and outside of the house. It was like living in a garden inside and out. And we all had to help.
Once we got home from school the very first thing we had to do is take off our School Clothes. Back then we had School Clothes, Church Clothes then we had our work clothes for when we go outside in the garden and did our yard work and chores. And we had to hang up our good clothes to be worn another day.
I figure I was about 18 years old when I discovered my name wasn’t “Go Plow”. Because when I got home from school the very first thing Grandpa would say….
“Son, Go Plow”
Grandpa believed in the ole timey way of growing a garden using an ole time push plow. I cut my teeth on the old metal wheel push plow. Hahahaha
Now you know the rest of the story.
