Much like many of the stories told here before mine, my family history originates from a foreign country. Both of my parents immigrated here from Kerala, India. Both of their families were farming families and they grew up on rural estates surrounded by cows, chickens, goats, and acres of farmland.

Despite leaving their lives on the farm behind and settling in the United States, my parents still have special memories tied to their simple childhoods working on their family farms. In my own childhood, my fondest memories include helping my dad garden during the springtime. From a variety of flowers in the front yard to tomatoes, cucumbers, and traditional south indian vegetables in the backyard, nothing was more rewarding than watching the transformation of the yard into an entire ecosystem and eating the delicious home cooked meals that results from the harvest throughout the entirety of the summer months.

The stories of both my parents and how they both intertwine into my own personal story can be metaphorically represented through a hand shovel. Not only does the act of gardening in my own childhood serve as a tie to the lives my parents had left behind in India and the ancestry of farming families that I am a product of, but the over arching message of enjoying the fruits of your own labor is a message that is intrinsically tied to my family’s and every immigrant family’s story.