Tag Archives: gardening

Hope

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Hope is not a strategy they said.  Taken from the context of some very high level business meetings where someone was trying to get their customer, dealer, vendor, whoever to respond to an incentive, process, threat, whatever. Yeah hope is definitely not a strategy in business.  Hope is more a component.

Hope is truly a component of a life well lived.  For me it’s one of the four H’s; hope, humor, hustle and hide.  None of these components can really stand on their own, none of them is self-sustaining.  They need a little somthin somethin on the side to be effective.

As a literary device hope is a key concept in many classic and contemporary fictional works. It can be used as a plot device and is often a motivating force for change in dynamic characters.  But even here you can clearly see it is only a concept there is nothing concrete happening unless…somethin.

Doesn’t mean I don’t love the phrase.  I loved it the minute I heard it.  It’s one of those stop in your tracks phrases that remind you every time you use a word like hope to look a little further.

One of the symbols of hope is the Swallow in Aesop fables and numerous other historic literature.  It symbolizes hope, in part because it is among the first birds to appear at the end of winter and the start of spring

Spring actually begins for me on April 1st.  I’m not good in March, it holds too much blah blah for me.  Too much what if and too much sorrow for me to welcome Spring on its actual arrival date.  So on April 1st I hoped somethin would bring some welcome relief from this very hard winter.

Through dinner with friends, good news from friends and even better weather than expected my hope was fulfilling itself nicely.   The emergence of my garden always fulfills my hope for welcome relief.  There is always that one day that the sun and my energy converge and begin the process of cleaning out the back garden, hanging the rug over the railing and giving it a good beating, uncovering the tiny little poke-throughs that just can’t help coming up before the hard frost fear is over.

This weekend brought me sunshine and wind to blow the leaves all the way to the edge of the enchanted forest.  It brought rug beating with no choking or sneezing thanks again to the wind. It brought out mineral oil for the wood furniture and cushions, if only temporarily.

It brought the first pansies to the garden centers and dirt under my fingernails.  It brought the end of the indoor farmers market and the anticipation of the outdoor market with its strawberries and asparagus and peas.

So while hope is not a strategy, on this weekend, it was a call to move, walk, beat, scrub, to welcome Spring and continue to hope for more.

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The Gardener’s Shadow

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Gardens are a form of autobiography.  ~Sydney Eddison, Horticulture magazine, August/September 1993

So if that’s the case, what happens when a gardener moves, or becomes ill or dies? I took a photo walk through the community garden at the senior housing grounds where my mother lives recenty.  It’s about two dozen semi-raised beds that are gardened by some of the residents and I can tell you exactly what happens.  Weeds.  And more weeds.  And even more weeds.

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The juxtaposition of healthy gardens to weed beds is in direct correlation to the members who have become ill, disabled or died.  It’s a heart break.  I could barely see through the lens to capture the reality but it has also given birth to a new mission.  I know, you’re shocked.

I intend to find out exactly how these plots are allocated and make it my business to volunteer.  I’m at this senior housing building almost every Sunday and if I can weed my own neighborhood I can certainly weed some of these tiny plots of soil.  I can just imagine being among these people next spring when they begin their work.  It’s been said that the more one gardens, the more one learns; and the more one learns, the more one realizes how little one knows, Vita Sackville-West.  The base of knowledge to draw from excites me beyond…these seniors know more tips and tricks than any five gardeners I already know.  They’ve probably forgotten more than I’ll ever know.  And yeah the forgetting part may become a problem…just sayin it’s yet another reason to make myself available.

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I wonder if the on-site housing management knows when gardeners have taken ill.  I wonder if these plots can be temporarily reallocated.  I wonder why the other gardeners don’t jump in.  Is it because of the very personal and peculiar habits of all individual gardeners?

Whatever the reason I just can’t resist the temptation to get my hands dirty, share (ok more like abscond away with) all the collective knowledge of these senior growers and to preserve the integrity of these gardens through the season.

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The reality of the people living in this complex is not lost on them.  They understand that they are in the twilight of their lives but I can think of nothing more distracting than to see it brought to light in the form of an overgrown garden.

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For the residents to be able to walk among the plots of living, flourishing nature has been proven over and over to lift spirits and provide hopefulness and positive anticipation. Hans Christian Anderson said, “Just living is not enough, one must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower.”  I know like I know that I will certainly get more from this than whatever amount of backache it gives me. Stay tuned.

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Today Was That Day

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Front Garden

Coffee.  Garden.  Coffee.  Does a good morning need anything else?  ~Betsy Cañas Garmon

Standing on my deck looking out at the enchanted forest with coffee in hand, today was that day when the poor old bush/shrub/wannabe flowering something had to go.  I’ve been trying to help it flourish since Mama Blue Jay had her babies there four years ago (https://www.ordinarylegacy.com/word/2009/07/05/pause-point-the-blue-jay-legacy/) but it just has not cooperated.  Jeanette told me long ago not to feed the dead stuff and usually I listen, but not this time.  I had a sentimental attachment to this poor old, light starved, only bloom at the top excuse for a flowering something. I can’t blame it; it was planted long ago too close to the building by people who had to use up all the plants that came on the truck.  I’m sure of it.

It was ready to go, the roots were easy to chop through, the soil loosened up around it and with a bit of push and pull all twelve feet of it came down.  I dragged it into the enchanted forest so that it could be reclaimed by the grubs and woodpeckers.  Its smaller twin went too.  I planted the tree that Muriel and Martina brought me and made a little cage for it so the landscapers, should they find their way around to the back of my building, didn’t stomp it to death.  Raked all along the edge of the enchanted forest and cleaned up my almost visible shade garden.

And then that thing happened that always happens when I’m sweating and dirty and my hands are starting to hurt…I become obsessed with the next thing and keep going.  It was the perfect day to keep going; early this morning when I started it was in the 40s.  It smelled like spring, that combination of dew and soil and growing things.  After my third latte and a bit of breakfast with Muriel there was no stopping me.  I was fueled and everything that needed to be done became perfectly clear.

Around to the front of the building to the side of my stoop I cleaned and pruned and weeded my little sunny bed.  Not much to be done there except find a new home for the mystery shrub I discovered last year.  It kept growing and growing until it blocked my azalea, sage, and the stella d’oro so I whacked it back with the intent of moving it this spring.  It’s now this Spring.  Let’s see what it becomes this year.

In order to move it to the other side of my stoop I have to clean up over there.  This is how it happens with a garden my friends.  You think you want a tiny little patch of land to water and prune and next thing you know you’re weeding the entire complex.  Garden obsession is at once satisfying in its therapeutic/creative/sensory ways and insufficient in that you run out of room quickly.

As I make my way down the front of the building, yes I did weed the entire front of the building, my neighbors are keeping a safe distance from the crazy woman in a bent over (at the hip) yanking and tossing trance.  Smart people, I’m working here.  My back is behaving beautifully since I learned from some posture guru that the waist is not a joint, clever no?  My knees are performing perfectly thanks to the zillion squats that somehow have worked their way into Zumba classes and I have the perfect number of layers on to keep out the chill.  I can feel the warmth of the sun as it makes its way over to this side of the street and I can’t think of anything more perfect to be doing on a Sunday morning.

So now the mystery shrub has a new home and the only thing annoying me now is the empty space left by the tree we lost in some storm, I don’t remember which, a few years ago.  Perfect solution is to go dig up one of the duplicated spirea at the edge of the enchanted forest and move it over here.  More digging, more hauling and more chopping at roots and my work is almost done.

Something is going to have to hide the electrical meters in the back so off I go, filthy from head to toe looking like someone who is happy to finally have dirt under her nails, to see if my local nursery has the red twig dogwoods I’m after.  They are perfect for that shady area and I had my eye on them yesterday when I stopped in at Willow Run.  It was a force of enormous restraint that I didn’t come home with anything because there was PLENTY I was lusting over.  My local nursery had nothing but pansies…really it’s almost the end of April for crying out loud.  Yes I did come home with a flat of pansies because I am color starved at this point and well it’s that pansy time of year.  I can assure you I will haul it over to Willow Run (http://willowrungardencenter.com) next weekend.

Pansies set in, aches setting in also, I make my way toward the shower but not before stopping for the requisite three Advil and a long overdue tall glass of water.  I am spent, happy, and proud of my work and already chomping at the bit for next weekend to come. I know like I know my garden sustains me, arthritic hands be damned.