gardens for Greg

(Because who doesn't love a good alliteration?)

Myself (age 3), my baby sister Mindy, and our dog, Sasha, all loving our dad. just outside the gate to our garden in Kennewick, Washington. Summer, 1977.

Today is the 5th anniversary of my Dad's death.

Greg Frandsen died on June 4, 2004, of a cancer that invaded his brain stem. One doctor he consulted theorized it may have been growing in there his whole life, since it is almost exclusively a childhood cancer, the useless cells intercalating into the healthy tissue until finally the balance tipped away from function. He was slowly robbed of the beautifully functioning body he had cultivated with an active life, clean living (we're Mormons and take our health code seriously), and lots of good food, much of which he grew himself. We were all angry (the cancer theme of the week) that his healthy lifestyle choices hadn't protected him (cancer novices then, we were not accustomed to the sweeping, impersonal cruelty of disease).

Now, we've decided to believe that his good livin' kept Daddy with us as long as we had him. The first specialist he mailed his MRIs to asked, "Is this man still walking?" Yup! A couple of months before, Nathan and I had gone with him and my sister Camie on a 3-day backpacking trip high into the heart of the Tetons.

Dad and his girls
The four of us & the view from "the Wall", July 2000

He kept shaking his head, with a "Vali, I'm getting old. I just can't hike like I used to." I remember he said something about it when I caught him here, resting in a meadow.At the time of diagnosis, my father was still fully involved with everything in his crazy life. An executive for a DOE contractor, he was making groundbreaking efforts to coordinate national plans to safely dispose of nuclear waste in a cooperative manner (his great ideas got him lots of national awards, but then a change in national administration swept them away. Stupid politics). He was also the bishop of our local church congregation, and wholeheartedly involved in the lives of his seven children (I'm the oldest; 3 were then still at home) and beloved wife. His unusual fatigue, which our family doctor kept attributing to nearing age 50 and being so busy, finally led to the MRI. The spread of the cancer in his brain stem and spinal cord should have been more debilitating at that point, but Daddy was still strong. He fought a good fight, but cancer's march is too often inexorable, and my daddy died at home three years later. He was 53.

Today, new landowners, our family planted our first garden, and I got to tell my girls about working in the garden with their grandpa.

Audrey, age 2, picking apples with Grandpa Greg.

So many of my memories of my dad are of yard work together, and somehow my dad worked it right: I place high value on growing, and have craved a garden of my own ever since. I kill houseplants with abandon, but somehow I think I can pull this one off. We're starting small (Nathan assembled the raised bed this morning), but excitement was high from all participants. Wish us luck. Garden, grow!

(Cancer cells, stop.)

Dad working the earth in our Kennewick garden.
Brothers Devn and Justin, Dad, sister Mindy, Valerie. Showing off our potato harvest, 1984

Grapes! Valerie, neighbor Tanya DeCoursey, Mindy, Daddy, Devn. Kennewick, 1980.
Another potato shot, with our new garden in the potato state. Dad, brother Jeffrey, Camie, Justin. Idaho Falls, ID, 1992.
A rare beard year. Dad with the sunflowers and beans, 1996.

Another bearded man I adore mixing our purchased (!) soil in the rain this morning (had to get the plants in before we left a'hospitaling this weekend). We're starting out small.
Audrey carefully sewing Swiss chard (do you think, with such ownership, she'll actually eat it ?).
Marian shoveling a spot for the cilantro (She rolled up her pants at school and now wants me to cut them into shorts. Stylista there. Especially with the polkadotted knee highs).
We won't let Reuben play yet.
Marian resting after a collision with her sister. Audrey was climbing the fence and suddenly there were tears. All Nathan and I saw were two girls collide over the fence and fling backwards, each on their respective backs. Just like in the cartoons. We suppressed our laughter for at least a minute. See? She was eventually fine.