My Grandma’s Farm

Despite all the unforeseen ways in which this year has played out for all of us, the romantic, compulsive storyteller in me still tries to find ways to tie my past to my present to my future, in attempts to make sense of it all. And in my own mind, my journey to my freedom garden seemed so simple and so completely mine. What started as a flower infatuation grew into a complex obsession with caring for indoor plants. Over the last two years, this passion has morphed into a love for the earth and the magic of growing outdoors; creating food out of some dirt, water and sun. From the outside looking in, it might seem like this has always been a knack of mine but in all honesty, it hasn’t. To me, this has been a gradual culmination of curiosity and interest for all things plants that I’ve found for myself through lots of trial and error, organically and leisurely, over the last few years. 

Or so I thought. With some reflection and perspective, I now realize that my story is so much bigger than me. 

I’m a Taiwanese-Canadian and immigrated to Canada with my immediate family when I was 5. My aunts, uncles, cousins and my grandmother are all still back in Taiwan. Stepping back this past month and reveling in the accomplishment that is my Canadian, Vancouver-based freedom garden, I’ve come to realize that my horticulture story really starts with my grandma. 

My grandma is 78 years old this year. She lives in a small village in Liuying district, 38 minutes outside of Tainan City by car. My grandma never had the opportunity to go to school so she’s lived her whole life illiterate. She grew up with dirt floors and she spent her childhood caring for her siblings and doing housework while her parents farmed. Eventually she would farm alongside the adults for income but also because that’s just what you did in the village; in one way or another, everyone plays a role in the agriculture industry that makes up the town. It’s the kind of town where everyone is in tune with the growing seasons, the farming economy and the necessities to nurture the land that grows the food that make up their diet and income.

My Taiwanese is not the best so my communication with my grandma is mostly a language of smiles and nods. She shows her love by cooking for us when we visit and we show her love by eating her food. 

How simple of me to think that this freedom garden journey was purely my own, when in reality, it’s one of my grandma’s life and of the ones before her. This has been a journey of small seeds of knowledge that she passed down to my father who has secretly been passing down to me without me even realizing it. And for them, I am grateful.