Sunday in CinCity--the Mom's edition

Family Garden

by Hank Hudepohl

Tell me again about your garden
Tell me how you planted, in the small
flat of mountain land, corn seed

and bean seed, how your finger poked the soil
then you dropped in three dark bean seeds
for every yellow seed of corn.

Trees and mountains collared your land,
but the fenced garden opened freely
to sun and warm summer rains.

Your potato rows bulged in July. You ached
from digging them up, your hands down in dirt,
the cool lump of a tuber, brown-spotted,

just recovered, a greeting, like shaking hands.
Baskets full of bumpy brown potatoes filled
your basement until fall, until you gave

away what you could, throwing out the rest.
You gave away honey from the white hive too,
that box of bees beside the garden,

honey stored in Mason jars, a clearest honey
nectar from lin tree blossoms and wild flowers.
The bright taste of honey on the tongue

spoke of the place, if a place can be known
by the activity of bees and a flavor in the mouth,
if a person can be known by small acts

such as these, such as the way you rocked
summer evenings from a chair on the porch
tending your inner garden, eyes closed.


  1. Beautiful poem, and beautiful photo... If I may ask, what is the source of the photo ? Would like to see more like that one...

  2. Thanks, I like this one, too. Gets you right inside of the story. Owen, I would love to know the origin of this photo. I found it Googling "rocking chair in porches" and it popped up at least 4-5 times. Looks very Depression era, doesn't it? I'll keep looking.
    Hope everyone had a happy weekend and Mother's Day!

  3. This makes me want to grow things. Unfortunately, the only thing green that survives in my house is mould.

  4. I'm glad that gardening exists and that others (such as my tiny mother-in-law) continue to do it. Lovely poem.


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