My Diddi was a proud Ukrainian, and spent hours in his garden. The earth smelt of compost, rich dirt, grass still wet from the morning dew and the air was always heavy with the scent of vine ripened tomatoes. I remember jumping out of the car – gumboots at the ready, and rushing to help with whatever chore was being rolled out.
I’d gently dig the potatoes out for Baba to make verenyky with (potato & pastry dumplings). And just before winter really hit, we’d always harvest beetroot for borscht.