Gartenfreunde Grandfather

I had a wonderful morning today. First, after I got the kids off to school, I went back to bed for a while. I am not proud of this, but I didn't sleep well and my productivity wouldn't start unless I got a little more rest. I woke back up knowing this had put me behind on all the things I had to get done today. So I slipped on a track suit, slapped on some moisturizer, put my hair in a ponytail and was out the door.

My first stop was going to be the hardware store, but before that I had one more self-indulgent project. Next to the hardware store is a gartenplatz. I suppose it's because German homes are so close together, there are separate land areas that are gartenplatzes. It's a cop-opted piece of land that looks like a bunch of backyards all together with no houses. There are little cottages, from hardware-store kits to home-made-by-a-master-craftsman to homemade-by-a-guy-who found-some-extra-lumber-and-corrugated-plastic-roofing. Some have BBQ grills, tables and chairs, anything you might find in a backyard.

This one is nice, with a hedge and fence all around, and is owned by the Garden Friends of Wiesloch (the village it's in). I've been seeing it green up with Spring and wanted some flower photos (In case you haven't noticed, I can't get enough taking photos of Spring flowers.) I park and head through a hedge-gate into the first of 5 lanes. An older man (he's 70) is walking towards me as he heads out with a rake and a basket of seeds in hand. I step aside, but he asks me something about photos. For some reason I say I am there to take photos of him which makes him laugh and point to his "dirty" shirt and hair. He says something else and shows me a lilac tree. Yes, much better for photos.

Now, I have told you that I have restaurant German, and I have shopping German, but I do not have conversation-on-the-street German. So I tell him my best practiced line in German ... "I'm sorry. My German is not good. I am learning, but slowly." I honestly lean too much on it, but it usually charms Germans into using their secretly perfect English. It's like you passed the test that you are really trying and now they want to help.

But this guy doesn't speak English.

And yet ...

For the next hour and a half he talks to me. In German. With context clues and recognizing some words and pantomime, I get about 75 percent of what he says. He tells me it is okay, that German is very hard. He moved here from Berlin 30 years ago, but the dialect is different here and that was very difficult. He had open-heart surgery 3 years ago (he unbuttons his top shirt and pulls down the top of his undershirt to show me the scar), done by a beautiful, shapely woman doctor. He was sad when she put him to sleep to do the surgery. They told him to relax and garden. He shows me his garden spot and tells me that the flowers come up every year. You don't have to do anything. But the vegetables come from seeds, then when it gets cold they die. He is growing garlic, which will be ready early fall, strawberries and green onions.

He tells me there is a wonderful restaurant, a "food paradise" just up the hill at the Winery. They grow all their own fruits and vegetables in greenhouses. You can get everything at the buffet, meats and vegetables, cake and puddings. Do I have paper? He will write it down. I can literally see the winery from where we stand, but tell him I have paper in the car. We go out and he writes down the name of the owner, but says he can't remember the number and that I should make reservations. He is actually parked right next to me, fishes around in his car and gives me a brochure for the restaurant. He laughs when he can't find the opening hours, I point it out to him and he realizes it is in English.

His tells me his Grandfather came from Poland and shows me the Polish name on his Driver's License. It has about 10 consonants and a "y" in it (Y sometimes is a vowel!). It sounds like Prince-something and he is impressed I repeat it correctly (he doesn't know how awful I am with names. I desperately want to write it down phonetically so I'll remember, but can't figure out how to explain that. And now I can't remember it properly). He's been married 40+ years. He has 2 kids, both in their 30's. His son works for NATO. (He beams when he tells me about his son). The son boxes. He is big, tall and strong. He kickboxes and does karate. He cuts his hair very short and struts around in his uniform (this he pantomimes, making me laugh hard, making him strut and march even more.)

He tells me how America is so diverse and that once here he saw an American woman with black skin (the only Africans you see here are American). When he says her skin was black he touches his cheek softly. He thought she was so beautiful. In his head he danced with her and laughed with her and spoke English with her, but says he is old and has been married 40 years and doesn't speak English.

Then he tells me to make sure I lock my car when I go back in the garden and to close the gate behind me. Then he rubs my arm like I am his daughter and says something I don't understand. I don't know the words, but I am mostly thinking of the way he is touching my arm. I am a girl without a grandfather, a girl whose father died 11 years ago and who's center-of-the-world grandmother passed away 3 years ago, a girl who is undone by the kindness of strangers and God in our midst. I am almost undone by the arm touch. Then I get that is telling me he has to go. He points to his watch. Then he cups my face with one hand and holds it there while he says something else. Again, I don't know the words. But I am smitten by his grandfatherly kindness to me. Then he waves and walks away.

I finish my lap around the gardens, get some of my errands and tasks done and let the warmth of this unexpected encounter stay with me all day.

And, when Eric gets home (he is TDY to Virginia, land of Target and Walgreens) we are going to try that restaurant.

Love - Val

(Remember to click on the photos to enlarge them if you want to see more detail.)

One of the gates into the gardens. This was lane 3 of 5. The yellow sign says there will be a May 1st cookout to profit the club, and DJ Leo will be playing music.

This is my friend's plot. As you can see, he probably does more chatting than gardening.

These water pumps are stationed along the main paths, ready for filling buckets.