My Neighbor Reported My 79-Year-Old Father’s Garden. When the Inspector Returned at Six A.M., He Discovered Who the Harvest Was Really For
That was Dad all over.
A garden saved was not a victory to admire from the porch.
It was a responsibility waiting in the soil.
PART 8
That following Friday morning, I set my alarm for three forty five and joined Dad in the dark kitchen to pack eleven cardboard boxes with fresh produce.
We drove down Ridgeview Road with the headlights off to avoid disturbing the neighbors.
Our first stop was at a small blue home on Elm Street belonging to ninety one year old Walt, who could no longer drive or walk without assistance.
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