Planting Peas and Remembering My Grandfather
Every February, as winter begins to loosen its grip, my thoughts turn to spring and gardening. This time of year is especially meaningful to me because it reminds me of my grandfather—a man who shaped my love for the natural world in countless ways.
He was an avid gardener, and every year he’d tell me, “Plant your peas on President’s Day.” For most of my adult life, I followed his advice religiously. But when I moved to my mountain farm over eight years ago—perched on a mountain and nestled in a forest—planting peas on President’s Day became more of a dream than a reality. Most years, the ground is buried under inches, sometimes feet, of snow.
This year, President’s Day falls on February 17th, and we just got another three inches of snow. While I might not be planting peas anytime soon, I still take this day to honor my grandfather and everything I loved about him.
He was a complicated man. A gentle giant with a peace-loving heart, he was drafted into the Marines during World War II and deployed to the South Pacific. The horrors he witnessed and endured changed him forever. But like many from his generation, he carried on the best he could. When he returned home, he became a firefighter, but his true solace was found in art and his garden.
As a child, his backyard was my magical kingdom. It wasn’t a neat or manicured garden; it was wild, creative, and alive with experimentation. He planted bamboo directly in the ground—something we’d hesitate to do now—but to a kid, that bamboo grove was enchanting. I remember squeezing through the tall, slender stalks, feeling like I had discovered a secret world.
Inside at his self-built, ramshackle dining room table, he’d sit with us for hours, painting mushrooms or sculpting clay creatures of the forest. Those moments shaped my imagination and my connection to nature. Lazy summer days with my grandfather—running feral through his garden or sitting by his side—are some of my most cherished memories.
He shaped who I am today, and I feel his presence every time I wander through my own forest. So, this President’s Day, whether I can plant peas or not, I’ll pause to honor him. I’ll remember the magic he created, the lessons he taught me, and the love he poured into his garden.
If you have snow-free soil, I hope you’ll join me in honoring him—or perhaps your own loved ones—by planting something. Start with peas if you can, and maybe add carrots, radishes, or lettuce too. And as you tuck those seeds into the soil, let them be a tribute to the people who’ve inspired you to connect with the earth.
Happy gardening, and here’s to remembering the ones who’ve helped us grow.
