Grandma's Flowerbed
Once upon a time my grandpa was working in the back flowerbed just underneath the kitchen window. My grandmother would stare out that window while washing dishes and watching the birds that came to her garden. She would often hum church songs and talk about those beautiful days that the Lord had made.
“That don’t look good,” I said to my grandfather as I walked out of the house pointing at the work he was doing. He leaned back wiping sweat from his brow with his long brown sleeve.
“Ain’t you got something better to be doing besides criticizing a man’s work?” he lamented.
“Grandma told me to tell you. She’s watching you from the kitchen window,” I informed him.
“Son, you remember what we had for dinner last night?” he asked. It reminded me of the reason why I moved in there in the first place. He was getting older and it was going to be hard for grandma to do it on her own.
“She double fried the chicken, grandpa. We also had biscuits and gravy,” I reminded the aging old man.
“And if you want any leftovers you better get your ass down here and help me dig,” he insisted.
As I got down on my hands and knees and began digging in the black dirt he leaned over and quietly said, “it may be a man’s world but it’s your grandma’s flowerbed.”
The End
