Дил розларим сизга армугон!
Дилсора Фозилова
Dilsora Fozilova





6/9/2008 5:48:44 PM
My Dad’s Garden

(Short story)
It was late autumn, and a night time shower made it difficult for my brothers to work in the garden. My father was supervising them while cutting the green parts of the grape trees. He always had a talent for gardening. It was shortly after my parents were married that my father created this magnificent garden for our family. It was the most beautiful place in town. There were many kinds of fruit trees brought from different places. The fruits were lush, ripe, attractive and delicious. There were beautiful roses in the corners, the type that can live for many years. There were special fruit trees that were grown by my father. Some trees had different fruits on their branches and all of them had their own delicious taste. Every spring my mother would seed the flowers and vegetables; there was always something to do.
The grapes especially needed a lot of work in the spring and the late autumn. My father never let my brothers cut the grape tree’s branches in the autumn, he did it himself. I played beside him and asked lots of questions about everything: grapes, our garden, what is good and what is bad and many more questions. All of the other work my family did together with the exception of my little brother and I. We were too small to work in the garden, as my father would say to others.

One day it was a slightly frosty and my little brother didn’t want to come out. Instead, he decided to stay in and play around my mom who was making dinner for our family. But I was enjoying performing tasks for my brothers such as "bring water", "step on the branch", or "hold the cutter." Close to lunch time it began to get a little bit warm. My brothers made a plan to go out to play soccer if they finished their work early, so they started to work faster. They forgot about me. I grew bored. After awhile I ran to another corner of the garden where my dad was cutting the grape branches.
When my dad saw me he took one bunch of grapes that he’d found hidden in the dried leaves and gave it to me.
"Take them honey, but wash before you eat."
I took it but didn’t want to go and wash it.
I asked instead "Dad, why are you cutting the branches?"
"Because they will overgrow if I don’t cut them" he said without looking at me.
"But wouldn’t it give more grapes if you didn’t cut it?" I asked innocently.
"No," he continued in the same tone "Actually it won’t give many grapes at all if I don’t cut them."
"Then why" I said, slightly bewildered, "are you not cutting some more?"
My dad looked at me with a soft, understanding smile and pulled at one of the big branches, causing a clump of dried leaves to drop messily upon his clothes. He climbed down slowly from the ladder and brushed himself off.

"Dad," I said with an unusually wise expression "if you tell my brothers to do this stuff your leaves won’t hurt."
My father smiled and said "Yes, it seems it is time to teach them how to cut the grapes."
At that moment, something gleamed in his eyes. He held his cutter firmly in his hands and started to teach me how to cut the grape branches. I showed him where to cut next because I wanted to demonstrate how fast I had learned from him. My father watched me patiently and explained to me if I was making a mistake. Later, I found out that was the last time my dad cut the grape branches. He became very sick in the winter and passed away in the summer. It was the biggest sorrow of our lives. Many years washed away along with my mother’s tears: tears of mourning from the depth of her heart.
After my dad’s death, my brothers continued his work in the garden. The garden was the only place where my mother could enjoy her time. My father could not, but the garden witnessed all of our weddings, all of the parties for the newborn children, and many happy days. But somehow, the grape vines did not bear as much fruit as they did in the years that my father tended them. There was something my brothers didn’t learn properly from my dad. Many years passed and my brothers tried to change their methods of cutting the branches, but nothing seemed to help.
My mother was always saying "The garden is the symbol of our family and we should keep the grapes healthy."
When I got married, I started to create one small garden for my family. In a few years it became a beautiful little garden. There were a few grape trees that I looked at with special attention. One autumn, I took down the grape trees from their special holder and looked for the point on the branch where I should begin cutting. Something, a very bright memory, came to my mind and I remembered my father’s words about how to cut the branches.
I remembered when he took the longest branch and told me " When you cut the branch, you have to understand which part of the branch will give us food in the next year and which part you should cut. If a part is still a little bit green, you should cut it because it will steal the strength of the tree in the next year and your grape tree can not give much food. If you cut a little bit more than enough, again you can not have food because that is the part which gives food for the next year."
I had followed my father’’s teaching, and after some time I found my grape vines began to bear fruit in the same abundant way as my dad’s. I shared "the secret of my dad" with my brothers.
After 20 years, our garden is still as beautiful as when my father was alive, and it is growing as our family’s symbol. It is as whole and happy as are my brothers, sister and I and it will continue to grow as our families grow. Two beautiful gardens left behind by my father: the growing green garden, and the growing great family.