Sun rays beat down on her face, she closed her eyes and soaked it up for a moment. Only looking up when her mother called out to her, she smiled as she saw her coming down the stairs and filled with that same excitement she has every year when it was time to grow the garden.
Mother smiled as she made her way down, her trusty trowel in hand. It was the perfect day to begin their last year of gardening.
The daughter carefully tore out all the pesky weeds as her mother started in on the holes for the seeds, she listened as her mother hummed softly for the both of them.
Mother winced softly but kept humming her tune. The arthritis in her hand becoming worse the further down the line she got but she smiled when her daughter asked if everything was alright, concern crossing her face. She merely waved it off, laughing lightheartedly and saying her old bones don't like to cooperate as much as they used to.
The daughter's face drooped somewhat as she looked down at their work when they were finished prepping the bed. The realization of this being their last year together was weighing heavy in her heart especially as she peaked over her shoulder in time to watch her mother rubbing at her hand.
The mother started to stand up, her daughter rushed to assist, letting her grab onto her arm and lift her up. She dusted off the dirt from her pants and sighed in satisfaction to look over their work. She turned, about to suggest some cold refreshments before continuing but paused to see her daughter trying to wipe away some tears with her palms.
It hit harder to see her mother getting older and so started the waterworks. She helplessly palmed at her tears trying to wipe away any sadness before facing her mother again. When she felt a hand on her cheek, she looked up at her with a soft sniffle, unable to determine if it was the crying or light allergies rearing already.
Mother smiled, her own eyes glassy. She explained softly that this was not an end, it would just be tradition coming to pass. Soon her own daughter will be old enough to help in the garden. She extended her trusty trowel, explaining that her own mother gave that to her when they first started. It's lasted 50 years and it will continue on its use through her and the granddaughter.
The daughter took it, looking over the trowel, it wasn't falling apart but it definitely showed its age with few dents and a minimal amount of rust on the bottom of the handle. She thanked her as they embraced.
To make things more light hearted the mother playfully snapped at her to stop with the waterworks, that she was going to dry out like a prune soon if she continued before leading them inside to have some cold tea.
