Bill was a hard worker and an excellent provider. As a project manager for a non-union electrical firm in Atlanta, it was not uncommon for him to work six twelve-hour days a week. In addition to this, he often had an hour commute in each direction.
I loved keeping the home fires burning and was constantly thinking of ways to stretch his earnings. Each year we expanded our organic raised-bed garden and experimented with affordable ways to improve its productivity. I did the research and pitched ideas in the winter, Bill drew up the plans and implemented them in the spring. He was both the engineer and laborer for every project.
Using Jeff Ball's Square Foot Gardening principles, we turned our rock-hard Georgia clay into a loamy paradise and grew everything from peas to peanuts, broccoli to blueberries. Bill painstakingly double-dug every bed while I mixed in compost and amendments. In the fall, we would drop our battered utility trailer onto the back of his truck and canvass the neighborhood for a hundred bags of leaves. I would run a few bags through the mulcher every couple of weeks and either reserve them to mix into our compost bins throughout the year or add them directly onto the beds as needed to control weeds and erosion.
We got a huge head start on the spring by growing our own seedlings during the winter months. Bill created a light room in our garage that could accommodate sixteen flats. His ingenious design provided enough light and warmth so that the rest of the garage could remain unheated even on single-digit days. The tender plants basked behind an old sheet draped across the doorway until they were sturdy enough to be transplanted. Then we hardened them off in cold frames, bought an extra few frost-free weeks with row covers, and were eating fresh produce before south Georgia farmers began harvesting.
We put the garden "to bed" in the late fall. This meant we either added four inches of compost to the dormant beds or planted winter cover crops like buckwheat to protect the nutrients in the soil. When it came time to plant in the spring, we were greeted by earthworms that were over a foot long and soil so loamy you could set out plants by simply scooping up the dirt with your bare hands.
The kids loved the garden. Its scale was small but varied, as each of the sixteen beds was only 4' x12'. Since we composted heavily, there were few weeds to pull, so it was not a tiresome thing. Harvesting peanuts or potatoes was the most fun--it was like digging for buried treasure! As the children grew, they got to choose their own "crops" to tend. Their interest in flowers soon meant delightful splashes of color in the backyard.
Once his workday was finished, Bill would round the curve above our house and honk when he saw the kids playing in the yard and me working in the garden. He would climb out of the truck, greet the children with enthusiasm, and then meander with me through the garden. On his days off, mornings often began in our backyard paradise. We would stroll hand-in-hand in the dew while inspecting every bed. Any signs of asparagus beetles yet? Was it time to remove the row covers off the broccoli? What did I think about the new bird netting over the blueberry bushes?
Some of our gardening projects were disasters, but many of them were delightful. I still recall harvesting worm-free, tender heads of broccoli as big as salad plates for our Thanksgiving dinner. Floating row covers had protected them from moths and unexpected bouts of fall heat. Nothing else on the table that holiday was more flavorful than steamed broccoli dripping with butter.
The Bible states that life began in a garden paradise, and the LORD often walked in the evenings there with Adam and Eve. Now I understand why. Few places on earth are more magical than a well-tended garden grown in partnership with God.
Kay O’Hara
February 16, 2026
