My Granddad died in about 1996, but he remains in spirit and memory, and also in the rhubarb that prospers in my folks' back garden. This was his rhubarb. I think plants are the best form of heirloom, or gift to the next generation. Mom made some gorgeous rhubarb crumble when I was back home. Each bite transmuted the soul of Philip Weate into succulent fruity bliss, set to renew its flavours in perpetuity. Amen.