PBW: Thanks, Lot.

Every generation has something to offer the ones that follow, and something to learn from the ones that precede. My paternal grandparents were hard working immigrants from Naples who managed to raise four daughters and a son. My grandfather was one of the pioneers of the lunch wagon, and eventually opened a small store in the front of their cramped house. My dad has often told me tales of how one of his younger sisters used to eat the profits and sneak in to the ice cream case. Still, my grandfather managed to support them all and even bought a small piece of property across the street for my grandmother to have a garden.

Before she died, she told my dad it would one day be his, since the garage on the lot would come in handy for the young mechanic. But when my grandfather died, my aunts wanted to sell both pieces of property. All but one had moved out of the house and married, and my own parents had only been married a short time. The other three sisters talked the fourth into moving in to an apartment, and the eldest brought a lawsuit against my father. Ultimately, my dad settled for the lot his mother had promised him, and there would be years of tension with his sisters.

Growing up, I hated the lot. I didn't know the story behind it yet, and didn't understand why there were two yards to toil in, two sets of weeds to pull every week. I did enjoy the homemade apple pies my mother would make from apples we picked there. Amid the weeds there were flowers, an apple tree, a pear tree, figs, and grape vines. Eventually when we got a new lawnmower at home, we brought the old one over to our garage, which had recently been vacated by the landscaper we had rented it to after he was consistently late with the rent. Suddenly I had two lawns to mow, but it was a lot easier than pulling the tall weeds by hand. It's gotten easier to take care of with regular visits, and my dad often goes on his own to keep it looking nice, and to honor his mother.

These days I'm happy to help when he asks, especially since he doesn't ask as much. I have a full time job now and I'll often find out on the weekend that he'd been there during the week without me. Sometimes I'll go there with him to box weeds and find a large pile already waiting. It was a nice day this past Sunday and since my mom works at an arboretum on the weekend, we had a few hours before she came home and we took her out to dinner for Mother's Day. I spend so much time indoors, in an office, that I relish any opportunity to get outside and, of course, I brought my camera along and snapped some photos before we left. I led tonight's Photo Blog Wednesday with a view in to my legacy, and the following image is the view from inside, looking out at the man who procured it for us:



Thanks, dad. Who'd have thought I'd ever be old enough to appreciate it?