A young boy’s day with Granddad was full of hands-on, outdoor fun—and a few surprises.
Text and photo by Bruce Ingram | Photo styling by Janette Spencer
When the school year ended and Elaine and I learned that we would have our grandson Eli with us for two days because his parents and older brother Sam were going on a trip, my wife decided that she would have the 11-year-old on day one, and he and I would be together on day two.
Sam and Eli will both be in middle school next fall, and it’s understandable that soon girls, grades, and athletic games will demand more of their time than grandparents will. There’s just so much more that I want to teach Eli about the joys of living in the rural Blue Ridge before that change inevitably comes.
On our day together, Eli and I start it in the garden at our raised beds. I explain that since it’s late May, the broccoli and especially the spinach are starting to bolt. I point out the seed pods on some of the spinach and tell him those plants are the ones he should harvest first. Next, we go to the two tomato beds where white onions line the perimeter. I instruct him to gather the biggest onion plants as they are the ones that will soon become peffy, a term my grandfather used for vegetables that are past their peak flavor. Lastly, I show him how to take a paring knife to deftly slice broccoli from its stalk.
Before going in for lunch, we have to level a native, black cherry tree that is shading a Rome apple tree and will soon also shade the garden. I tell Eli that I despise cutting down mast-bearing trees like the cherry that are so important for these mountains’ wildlife, but the Rome needs sunlight to flourish and so does our garden. I also detail how to notch the cherry so that it won’t fall on the apple tree or our garden fence.
We also have to finish cutting up a sycamore for firewood, and as we walk to the already downed tree, Eli remembers that he needs his work gloves for that project and goes to our front stoop to retrieve them. But then I hear him yell: “Granddaddy, there’s a copperhead by the stoop!”
“Stay back,” I yell and run toward him. Copperhead bites are rarely fatal as the venom is quite weak, but obviously I don’t want my grandson to undergo that ordeal. Upon arriving, I immediately see that the reptile is just an eastern milk snake. I explain how the brownish-red blotches help to identify a milk snake and how its roundish head and lean body help to distinguish it from a copperhead, with its triangular head and thick body. Eli asks if we should remove the milk snake, and I reply that I’m fine with where it is and what it’s doing…lying in wait for skinks, mice, and various insects—another lesson taught.
Making short work of the sycamore, it’s time for lunch: venison burgers and salad. The former comes from a deer I harvested the past October, and the salad, of course, consists of the spinach, broccoli, and onions we’ve just gathered and Eli helped plant. I tell him that food always seems to taste better if you’ve planted it yourself or been responsible for it being on your plate.
Then I ask Eli if he would like to go catch his dinner. Intrigued, he asks how, and I explain that I am going to take him fly-fishing for bluegills on a neighbor’s farm pond. Never having fly-fished, the boy asks how we are going to put house flies on a hook.
A few hours later, we journey to the pond. I show Eli how to tie a clinch knot and explain that the ant imitation tied on is a fly. My grandson catches four bluegills and after dinner, proclaims that they are some of the best fish he’s ever eaten.
The story above first appeared in our May/June 2026 issue.
