Dirt, weeds and deep roots to my ancestors

Working in my garden, dirt underneath my fingernails, I think of my grandmothers:

Grandma Bea, tending to her tomatoes on her little patch of grass two street blocks inland from the ocean in the 90 degree heat while my friends and I lay on the beach. On our return, sated with sun and salt, she would greet us from her garden, finding the ripest…