Johnny's Garden

My toes sink into the soft sandy south Georgia soil. I stand alone in Johnny’s garden, surrounded by the melodies of a dozen songbirds. It is cool and peaceful this morning, but by noon it will be hot. I marvel at this beautiful slice of paradise that Johnny and my mom have created: two long rows of green beans will soon be covered in those delicious “blue lake” beans, twelve giant squash plants are bursting with yellow blossoms, branches of tomato plants will soon be weighed down with “Big Boys” and “Better Girls,” okra plants are just beginning to pop up and cucumber vines are just starting to run.

Down near the tool shed there are 30 or so mature potato plants — the potatoes need to be extracted from the south Georgia soil.

Tears fill my eyes when I realize that Johnny will never harvest those potatoes he planted.

He will not get to pick those green beans. He will never again sit on the porch with a pan in his lap, shelling Sadandy peas and watching cars go by on the highway. He will never again get to share the bounty of his garden with family and neighbors.

Although I have frequently visited my Mom and Johnny's Ohoopee, Georgia home, I am visiting this time for the worst possible reason. My step father, Johnny passed away Friday morning.

Johnny Collins was born in Lyons on March 26, 1940. The youngest of seven children of Joseph (Josie) and Elza Collins — Johnny’s father passed away just weeks before Johnny’s birth.

As a single father, Johnny raised his two children, a son Mike and a daughter, Barbara whom he affectionally called “Peanut.” Johnny came from humble beginnings and worked hard his entire life. He grew up in a generation where hard work and sacrifice were valued and he did just that — he worked hard and sacrificed to provide for his family his entire life.

Then on a beautiful fall day in 1997, Johnny and my mother got married in Dahlonega. Since that day they have worked side by side to build a beautiful life together. They have cared for one another, cared for neighbors and cared for their extended families. Their home and garden are showplaces — testaments to years of hard work and dedication to their shared dreams and visions.

Johnny has always graciously welcomed me and all of us Laniers into his home and into his heart. Through 25 years of noisy family gatherings, reunions, and holiday celebrations, he has been a right there in the center of all of our chaos, without complaint.

This morning as I stood in the solitude of Johnny’s beautiful garden, I heard the noisy birds in the nearby pine trees, I smell the scent of a mound of white petunias growing nearby and I see the pear tree that will soon be heavily laden with fruit. Over by the fence I see the pomegranate tree — Johnny always collected and saved a sack full of pomegranates for me because he knew how much I love them.

I look down at my bare feet in the sandy soil, and I can see Johnny’s footprints. He was just out here working on Friday morning — doing what he loved.

Then it hits me — I realize that I am literally walking in Johnny’s footsteps; The footprints of a great man who lived a great life — a humble servant who always put the needs of others ahead of his own, a man who loved his family, who loved my Mom and loved us all unconditionally.

Tomorrow morning he will be laid to rest. Through tears of sorrow, we will say our final goodbyes, sing “I’ll Fly Away” and make our way slowly back to his Ohoopee home.  We will feel a huge sense of sadness and loss — an absence in our lives that can never be filled. But our sadness will gradually diminish and the things that remind us of Johnny will begin to bring us comfort and joy instead of sadness. Those moments will remind us of everything that Johnny was and everything he meant to us all.  And his garden is one of those things.

We will all pitch in to help my mom continue to care for that magnificent garden that she and Johnny planted just weeks ago. We will pick the weeds and keep everything sufficiently watered and properly fertilized. We will offer baskets of tomatoes, squash and beans to neighbors — delivering them with a smile.

I stand in his footsteps and look toward the heavens, and I whisper, “Don’t worry, Johnny. We will dig those potatoes out of the ground for you; cook them with a creamy, white gravy, just like you loved; devour them as we gather around the table; and we will relish all the many memories you left with us.”

I follow his footsteps to the edge of the garden and look back for a moment, but then I look forward and walk toward the house.