My father, Ronald Stokes, often told me that he should write a book. Unfortunately, though he accomplished many things in his life, writing a book was not one of them.
During the final season of his life, Dad asked me if I thought he would live to plant another garden in the spring. Though I expressed hope he would, he did not.
So this book is for you, Dad. It could never match the beauty of any of the gardens you and Mom planted and tended and fed me and my brothers from over the years. And outside right now, winter has Kentucky in its chilling grip and the fields are white with frost but I'm planting these words in your honor for I know spring will come.
Thank you for the stories you told me, the times you held me and for being my daddy.