My father adored fruit. At age five, he claimed he spotted God in a pear tree, watching it transform blossoms into pears. The summer evenings of my childhood, Dad and I walked the six acres he called a garden – caressing leaves and whispering encouragement to berry bushes, fruit trees, and vegetables. He strolled with a goblet of wine. My tumbler held Kool-Aid. Splicing vines was this dentist’s hobby. At 83, he grafted his way to a new grape, naming the red beauty Gloria for Gloria in Excelsis Deo. Today, I visit my garden and adore the fruit of the earth.
MARY-FRANCES SCHNEIDER 