Surprises from the garden and their healing power

A generous neighbor recently urged me to pick tomatoes from his garden during his extended absence. Last Thursday, I obliged.

Helen Baldwin plays “sorta farmer” after picking tomatoes at a neighbor’s farm. (Photo by Helen Baldwin)

I shared some with a friend whose own tomatoes were a disappointment. I kept half of the remainder for salsa I’d make and saved the other half for our son, Matthew, for a favorite recipe.

That evening, my husband, Randy, took our grandson to football practice. I sent the tomatoes with Randy, texting our daughter-in-law, Jill, to make sure Randy got the tomatoes out of the car.

On Sunday, I asked Matthew if he’d had a chance to make his recipe. I thought he said that Jill had taken them to her work, and that she had to go get them. That made no sense, but an interruption kept me from asking more.

That afternoon, Jill and our granddaughter arrived at our house. They had gone for the tomatoes and found a note left with the empty buckets.

Thanks to Jill’s chaotic first week and lack of clarification as to the intended destination of the tomatoes, at least one employee benefited from the mix-up. I like to think the tomatoes provided a much-needed, unexpected boost for this very special teacher.

A big garden, big move, and big baby surprise

In the fall of 1997, it was a cabbage on our front porch that provided a much-needed, unexpected boost for this very stressed mama.

Randy and I grew up in Fort Worth, Texas. We assumed we’d stay put after we got married, but my father, close to retirement, decided he’d had enough big-city life, and Randy agreed. Consequently, we began searching for rural acreage not too far away. We soon located enough land for two houses about an hour from Fort Worth. It was beautiful and peaceful.

Eager for a garden, Dad promptly procured an old tractor and prepared a spot for squash, zucchini, tomatoes, cucumbers, turnips, and Daikon radishes. Everything came, pumping up Dad for the next year’s garden!

Alas, there was no next year’s garden. Randy and I unexpectedly moved to Columbia, South Carolina, for teaching jobs. My folks ended up following us there.

In the final hours of 1995, Randy and I moved our family, which included our children, Matthew and Katie, to the North Carolina mountains. In the spring of 1997, our family of four unexpectedly became a family of five. And our surprise baby, Jeffrey, would soon spring a surprise of his own.

SMA diagnosis and decline

What I had attributed to amazingly good fortune — an incredibly easy baby content to sleep and cuddle — turned out to be a progressive genetic nightmare. At 2 months, Jeffrey was diagnosed with a severe case of the deadliest form of spinal muscular atrophy (SMA).

The muscles responsible for movement, sucking, swallowing, and breathing would gradually fail. The neurologist said it would take about four years. The genetics counselor said two.

With no available treatment, we were on our own. Randy and I regrouped and went to work. I researched SMA and tracked down fellow SMA families. Randy picked the brains of anyone familiar with alternative treatments. Prayers for strength and a miracle cure were on speed dial.

A pulmonologist’s office finally responded to my inquiry about a consultation for BiPAP and experimental gabapentin, used by the pulmonologist on a toddler with SMA. Our appointment was scheduled for Oct. 6. I was beyond elated that we had one more straw after all!

The consultation was, indeed, our final straw. An unfortunate decision in the office unleashed SMA’s fury, sending Jeffrey’s body into a free fall. Our home health nurse passed the baton to a hospice nurse.

Sixteen days later, a gigantic cabbage appeared on our front porch. There was no note, although we suspected which neighbor had left it. We appreciated the thought and unexpected distraction (a gigantic cabbage seemed silly!) that eased us from our real world, if only momentarily.

Jeffrey snagged his wings 13 days later.

The Papa Tomato has remained a favorite sign after 20 years. (Photo by Helen Baldwin)

The Papa Tomato

As my father’s health declined rapidly in the summer of 2006, he asked our neighbor (the likely cabbage fairy) if he could plow a small garden, something Dad had dreamed about since Texas. The neighbor graciously obliged, and Randy and I quickly filled it with plants. Dad never saw the garden up close, but he was pleased.

After Dad’s death at the end of June that year, the Papa Garden took off. With a pending frost in October, I picked the tomatoes, all still green. I gave half to Mom and took the rest home.

The tomatoes ripened quickly. I grabbed one, thinking about the garden and how much I missed Dad.

Dad loved his family with a passion, so I was speechless only momentarily when I cut open the official Papa Tomato.

It still brings a boost.

Note: SMA News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of SMA News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to spinal muscular atrophy.