Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you. ~ Richard Brinsley Sheridan
Outside of helping me by digging out three very stubborn and deeply-rooted shrubs in front of the house this summer, the yard is my domain, not my husband's. He respects that and leaves me to it. Smart man.
Considering where I come from I find it pretty remarkable that gardening has become my zen place in life. Doesn't matter if I find slugs or Japanese beetles, I deal with them and move on. They're just momentary blips on the radar screen in the grand scheme of my yard. And I have found that spraying peppermint water on the plants growing on the side of the garage where the beetles are keeps them at bay. They're obstinate little devils, but whoever was kind enough to post on the internet that peppermint is something they can't stand...thank you.
Growing up, no one in my family liked yard work. One day a year my dad would holler out that today was the day we were going to work in the yard, and work we did. But he had no blueprint in his mind as to what a garden should look like and he'd start whacking and chopping and digging at random. And what was revealed at the end of the day wasn't any better, really, than what it looked like to begin with. He'd mow through the summer and that was the extent of it until next year.
So where did my love of gardening come from? A very beloved aunt of my husband's was someone I loved even more than my own mom -- that is a story in itself, left to be touched upon another day. Aunt Gin became terminally ill with colon cancer and in her last year or so I began cleaning her house for her and she also asked if I'd be willing to work in her yard pulling weeds and planting flowers and vegetables. I told her I was definitely happy to do it but she'd have to help me every step of the way because I didn't have a clue what to do. She asked me to weed one of her side flowerbeds one week and as I plucked away at all these little weeds I spotted in the dirt...and there were a lot of them...she came up beside me and stood watching for a minute or two. "What are you doing?" she asked. I smiled up at her and said very proudly, "Pulling the weeds!" because I had the bed completely cleared out by then. She kind of chewed on her lip as she stared at the pile of weeds beside me and then told me, "Those were all my Chrysanthemum seedlings I'd started from seed a few months ago."
Ohhhhhhhhhh...
Ooops.
And then we laughed and laughed.
I had no clue.
Oh, how I miss that woman!
From that point onward, she patiently and lovingly taught me all she knew and because she was so kind, she instilled a deep love of the plants...the soil...the sun...the bird song...the peace and tranquility of what true gardening is all about in my heart. I owe a deep debt to her for that, because through the ups, the downs, the hard times, the good times, the garden is where I go to put it all in perspective. Where I talk to the Lord and let all the stress go. Where the world doesn't intrude, and time gets put on the back burner. I am perfectly content to let it simmer and perk there without me for a few hours....it'll still be there when I come back.
Considering where I come from I find it pretty remarkable that gardening has become my zen place in life. Doesn't matter if I find slugs or Japanese beetles, I deal with them and move on. They're just momentary blips on the radar screen in the grand scheme of my yard. And I have found that spraying peppermint water on the plants growing on the side of the garage where the beetles are keeps them at bay. They're obstinate little devils, but whoever was kind enough to post on the internet that peppermint is something they can't stand...thank you.
Growing up, no one in my family liked yard work. One day a year my dad would holler out that today was the day we were going to work in the yard, and work we did. But he had no blueprint in his mind as to what a garden should look like and he'd start whacking and chopping and digging at random. And what was revealed at the end of the day wasn't any better, really, than what it looked like to begin with. He'd mow through the summer and that was the extent of it until next year.
So where did my love of gardening come from? A very beloved aunt of my husband's was someone I loved even more than my own mom -- that is a story in itself, left to be touched upon another day. Aunt Gin became terminally ill with colon cancer and in her last year or so I began cleaning her house for her and she also asked if I'd be willing to work in her yard pulling weeds and planting flowers and vegetables. I told her I was definitely happy to do it but she'd have to help me every step of the way because I didn't have a clue what to do. She asked me to weed one of her side flowerbeds one week and as I plucked away at all these little weeds I spotted in the dirt...and there were a lot of them...she came up beside me and stood watching for a minute or two. "What are you doing?" she asked. I smiled up at her and said very proudly, "Pulling the weeds!" because I had the bed completely cleared out by then. She kind of chewed on her lip as she stared at the pile of weeds beside me and then told me, "Those were all my Chrysanthemum seedlings I'd started from seed a few months ago."
Ohhhhhhhhhh...
Ooops.
And then we laughed and laughed.
I had no clue.
Oh, how I miss that woman!
From that point onward, she patiently and lovingly taught me all she knew and because she was so kind, she instilled a deep love of the plants...the soil...the sun...the bird song...the peace and tranquility of what true gardening is all about in my heart. I owe a deep debt to her for that, because through the ups, the downs, the hard times, the good times, the garden is where I go to put it all in perspective. Where I talk to the Lord and let all the stress go. Where the world doesn't intrude, and time gets put on the back burner. I am perfectly content to let it simmer and perk there without me for a few hours....it'll still be there when I come back.
Great to read here again Kris! A special memory for you.
ReplyDeleteMy mom had a green thumb and had inherited it from her mom, but unfortunately didn´t instill the same knowledge into me. When I was young I had no interest and now that I´m older and would have the interest and time, she is not able to anymore. But I love a pretty garden!
That brought back a memory of taking care of a rather large yard with tons of plants and flowers. My husband at the time had been transferred to Bremerton and we rented a home. It was a tri level the kind you had three floors to keep clean!!! Yikes. I had the energy then to start digging through the front garden when Spring arrived. Under all the dead grass and leaves and tangles of dead branches I found beautiful green sprouts. I was hooked. I never stopped hauling the muck and mess out of that garden that day. My little boys must of wondered what had gotten into my head. The only purpose it had provided for one of them ( I don't remember which) was to take the outdoor pee break all little boys do till they get caught. Anyway by the end of the day it looked really nice in the front. I had weeded around the Magnolia tree, pulled up weeds in a stone garden at the bottom of the front steps and had a huge pile of dead branches big enough for my babies to jump in. I've never since experienced the wonder of seeing the start of green buds coming up from the rich dark soil and the thrill and satisfaction of making the yard look somewhat pretty after a hard snowy winter. I think I was possesed with a good thing though. It was the wonder of the season change God gives us every year and working until exhaustion hit. Now as I have no garden anymore I love to drive around Vancouver in the fall. Somewhere I have a picture of pink roses blooming in November on Corrigidor Drive. Thank you for reminding me of this memory. I also loved Miss Hartley and wrote poetry and sometimes still pick up the pen and write.
ReplyDeleteI think if more people realized what a 'zen zone' gardening can create in a person's mind there would be a lot more of them outside and a lot of therapists going out of business, lol! Getting out and 'playing in the dirt' helped me work through the emotions of losing the beloved aunt I wrote about here, as well as the deaths of my parents. I was a Grand Juror for Multnomah County many years ago for a month, and coming home and sitting on the back porch for half an hour before heading in to family and cooking...oh, the peace that would come in to my soul after spending 8 hours listening to testimony of so much human misery and depravity! Gardens are truly our little sanctuaries.
DeleteI think so too miss chris. My mom had passed away a year before and I was greiving. It was therapy and good therapy. We had a dog at the time. A puppy who ate up the backyard in less than the length of summer. My husband took that task on. He had to reseed the grass. It was a mess. Where I live now people are allowed to grow vegetable gardens. I was given some plump tomatoes which was nice this September. I don't have a green thhmb so am content with bamboo plants in my apartment. So far so good.
ReplyDelete