When I was little there was the "apple man". He owned an orchard nearby and would fill up his truck with apples and bring them to our neighborhood in the fall. Mom bought a bunch of bushell basket-fulls and we would can applesauce and apple pie filling for our food storage. Somehow, through the "apple man", we knew a man named Mr. Gardener. He was an older man who lived by himself inSalt Lake City. Every year our family would put together baskets of fruit and deliver them to people my parents knew. One of these baskets always went to Mr. Gardener. I don't think that he had many visitors. I don't think that he had family that visited often either. We would drive to his house and knock on his back door. I'm sure we were a slight to behold with all ten of us bunched up on his back porch. Then we would sing carols and visit with him a bit. We went every year for much of my childhood. I'm grateful my parents gave us these opportunities to serve at Christmas time.
Over the years we've had "special people" to visit - and it's a great experience. My dad always went to Hollywood and picked up his Uncle Norman, who would spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with us. I have great memories of those days - the drive to Hollywood was pretty exotic to a Valley Girl of the 50's!!
ReplyDeleteMr. Gardener actually lived next door to a house that Dad was building in Sugarhouse. Dad got to know him as he watched the construction. It was only later that we found out that he was related to the Gardeners in Bluffdale who owned an orchard. We went every year until one year he did not answer and we were no longer able to find out where he was. He was a very nice man but somewhat of a hermit.
ReplyDeleteI also remember going to a blind man's on a number of caroling occasions. Although my recollection of Mr. Gardener coincide with yours.
ReplyDeleteMr. Gardener's house was old and dilapidated. As a child I always wanted to go inside and see what it was like ... it was so mysterious. We never went to the front door and the back door was barely hanging to the jam. Towards the end I am not even sure if Mr. Gardener even knew who we were. But it was always fun to go.
I was just telling someone about caroling at his house the other day.
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