My Grandad (in his 'Sunday's Best') and Grandma, in front of his beloved rose trellis. Like many wise men from the Southern states, my Grandad was already practicing permaculture before it was formally named. Not shown in this picture was a grape arbor, mulberry, pear and peach trees, corn, tomatoes, peppers, green beans, okra, gladiolas, well water, and when I grew up in the 70's, there was even a chicken coop! I am glad that my Grandad's legacies of land live strong in me. Soon enough, those legacies will be edible... and inhabitable.

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"Artists don't make objects. Artists make mythologies." (Anish Kapoor)

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When I was little, my Grandad tried to teach me the valuable lesson of impermanence by drawing cartoon characters, in pencil, on boiled eggs.

He was really good at drawing, so I never wanted to eat them.

I resisted his lesson.

Instead, I started hiding and saving the eggs, because they were no longer breakfast in my eyes, but ART... made special because they were made by him.

But my grandparents were too practical to indulge my early desire to curate beautiful things. “Food is to be eaten, chile.”

So I guess I’m saying... my Grandad taught me to eat art.

His drawings were much more complex and detailed than the simple ones below.

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I also picked up the idea that boring things (like a daily boiled egg), can be made so much better with whimsy and creative expression.

Oh and, the things you draw on, don't have to be flat!

I miss him.

And something for the ruby-hearted...

❤️ NOTHING IS WASTED ❤️

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With special thanks to @lazarus-wist whose wonderful poem helped trigger this memory.