It's The Soil - Spending Treasure

A wave of nostalgia washed over me. For a moment, things felt just like they did way back then.

The tall pines that lined the driveway had not changed. The house, though not the same, sat nestled in the trees that were the very same trees that had embraced the old house that had been there when we were kids growing up.

I’m pretty sure I have not been to visit this place since our childhood. But just for that moment everything felt like it did all those years ago. I like that.

I had been to town with my folks and as we returned down the familiar, but ever-changing street, we were driving slowly – counting the deer.

“There’s DG,” I said, waiving as I said it. “Oh look! He is motioning for us to pull in!”

As I pulled into the driveway, now nicely paved, (many years removed from the dirt drives and gravel roads of our past) I admired the cleanly kept yard and beautiful log home, that DG had built after buying this place from his dad.

DG gave Dad and Mom a big old smile, and my heart smiled, too, as I thought about all the years that had been kept between the three of them. They love each other, I thought, and that smile DG has is still very much the same.

DG was one of my brother’s best friends growing up and he and I had gone to school together since first grade. I hadn't kept in contact with him, but my folks and DG were never out of touch.

I think I have written about DG before. He has the most beautiful garden I have ever seen anywhere, hands down, bar none. What ever the expression is! I have never seen a garden like DG’s and it is the same every year!

It was clear why he had motioned us to stop. He had vegetables for Mom and Dad. As he started to gather them into a sack, he told us, “I was just coming down to your place! I’ve got these vegetables for you.”

“DG”, I exclaimed, “you have the most beautiful garden I have ever seen anywhere! I don’t know how you do it! I wish mine looked like that.”

“It’s the soil,” he modestly answered. And I knew that was at least in part true. The soil in this area is rich and dark – almost like a finely roasted coffee bean – the dark ones that I always prefer to select.

“I know.” I replied, “But there is more to it than that. Nobody else out here has a garden like yours!” You’ve got this down!”

“Nah,” he smiled, “it’s the soil.” And my heart smiled again. This is exactly the DG I knew all those years ago. Humble and unassuming; never one to toot his own horn. The memories flooded over me again. He’s kept it, I thought. He has kept the way we were raised, the values and attitudes with which our folks all raised us when we were all neighbors and friends in this little community where we grew up.

Nostalgia washed over me, again…this is how it was then, I thought to myself. This was our neighborhood, and this is how we behaved. I remembered we were all taught "humility" was an important trait for us to uphold. We respected people like that. It was the way we were supposed to be. I remember it! I had almost forgotten how good that is. I think now days it would be much more common to have to sit through a lecture on all the things one had done to make ones garden so fantastic if that compliment had been offered to some people now days. But this was our neighborhood, and here it seemed - at least in this moment - things hadn't changed.
 

As I backed out of the driveway, the memories flooded over me again. And it felt as if I were back there again; 50 years ago. It all was the same, again…just like it was when we were kids - for just a moment in time things were rich and deep and old-fashioned. It was the neighborhood I cherish.

Yeah, it’s the soil, I thought to myself; where a whole lot of good was raised.