Suds and Secrets

When Grandma called for a “garden cleanup,” I assumed she meant she needed help trimming hedges or pulling weeds. I was wrong.

I arrived to find half the family in the backyard, wearing old clothes, rubber gloves, and suspiciously excited expressions.

“We’re cleaning everything,” Grandma declared, hands on her hips. “Shed, tools, pots, porch, souls if we have time.”

Someone handed me a sponge. Someone else passed me a fizzy lemonade. And like that, I was conscripted into what Grandma called the “Backyard Revival.”

The hose sprayed like a celebration. Uncle Louis made a game of how fast he could scrub the grill grates. My sister played DJ from the porch, curating a playlist of classics and summer beats that made every motion feel like choreography. I danced while I cleaned flowerpots, singing along with no shame, even when I hit the wrong notes.

Between sponge battles and storytelling, we cleaned out the old shed—finding relics like Dad’s high school baseball glove, a stack of vintage cookbooks, and a rusted tin labeled “buttons & magic.” No one knew what the magic was, but we didn’t dare throw it away.

As the sun reached its peak, Grandma brought out food like she’d been preparing for a small festival: grilled corn, spicy bean salad, lemonade with cucumber, and soft rolls filled with sweet chicken salad. We gathered around mismatched folding chairs and crates turned into makeshift tables, passing plates and teasing each other between bites.

Someone said I looked “at peace,” and I paused mid-bite to realize they were right. I wasn’t thinking about my messy week, my endless to-do list, or whether I was “doing enough” with my life.

I was just... here. Hair messy, hands damp, shirt stained with dirt and lemon water. Laughing, chewing, wiping sweat from my brow. And feeling, for once, like that was more than enough.

Grandma raised her glass of hibiscus tea. “To the messes we make, and the beauty we uncover while cleaning them.”

We all clinked cups and let the moment breathe.

Later, we played cards on the porch while the sun dipped low, our bodies tired but our spirits full. The backyard sparkled, yes—but so did we. The kind of glow you only get from scrubbing things down with people who love you no matter what you look like when you're elbow-deep in compost.