A few weeks ago, my neighbor and garden friend died after a difficult and painful illness. The sadness of this clings to me – and, I am sure, to his roommates, friends and co-workers.
He was someone who just naturally took care of the people around him. He was a longtime member of Alcoholics Anonymous who sponsored others on their journey, and set a great example of how to be fun-loving while sober. More often than not, a friend who needed a place to stay was sleeping on his living room couch.
He was a hard worker who got up long before sunrise to go to work every day, and spent evenings and weekends tending to his garden, his household, and his friends. In his last, delirious days, he would still try to get out of bed in the wee hours to go to work. His roommates had to coax him back into bed by telling him it was Sunday.
I’m not sure what gardening experience he brought when he moved in a few years ago. He spread bark and planted corn in it, grew vegetables in raised beds without enough soil, and let morning glories get out of control. But somewhere in his background, there was a gardening gene, and he was living out that impulse to plant, nurture, weed and water. Like all of us, he was learning as he went. He was successful with potted plants of flowers and restored some neglected rose bushes back to beautiful.
Except for this column, I refrain from giving gardening advice that isn’t asked for, but I could see he was a little frustrated about his struggling vegetables. So in the past three springs, I ordered more cow manure than I needed, and asked him if he could use the surplus. He did, and his final crop of corn was spectacular. After he died, the lingering sight of his tall, withered corn stalks brought me to tears.
When the days started getting shorter, grayer and rainier, I felt as if my garden was grieving too. A hard rain knocked the cosmos to the ground, the trees wept leaves, and the tomatoes stopped ripening. For so much, life was just over.
Most gardeners feel this sense of loss at the end of a growing season, but my neighbor’s death made it much harder to bear.
Finally, a few days ago, I noticed that the cosmos that had fallen onto the porch railing was not only still blooming – it was still making new flower buds – lots of them. And while I’ve admired cosmos’ delicate, open-faced flowers for years, the beauty of the buds suddenly transfixed me. What optimism in October!
As I walked around the house, my eye fell on the calla lily whose tuber I had transplanted last spring and given up for dead. It rested, and now it’s back, with perfect upright leaves, happy in its new, less crowded location. A small resurrection.
A few steps further, I was greeted by a blooming patch of pink cyclamen that has spread into a path. These odd and wonderful flowers are a legacy of someone I will never meet, who planted them sometime in the 96-year past of this old house.
They reminded me that my neighbor had planted a new bed of roses last year. Another legacy we can hope others will treasure.
So there it is, the circle of life in the garden: life, death, more life, and legacy. We are all part of this.
Jill Severn writes from her home in Olympia, where she grows vegetables, flowers, and a small flock of chickens. She loves conversation among gardeners. Start one by emailing her at jill@theJOLTnews.com
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Writersuntied
What a beautiful goodby to your friend...
Saturday, October 14, 2023 Report this
PegGerdes
In one short essay, to both tug and uplift my heart is no small feat. Thank you for this loving walk through the circle of life.
Saturday, October 14, 2023 Report this
Drutty
What a poetic goodbye to your friend. Both sad but with future hope. Well done!
Saturday, October 14, 2023 Report this
Olynancy
I have reread this tender and beautiful column several times. Thank you for writing it and for capturing so well the arc of gardens and relationships. My last green Red Robin cherry tomatoes in the pot on my porch are still thinking they will ripen, as they did last year. But if they don't, it's OK. They've been a tasty joy.
Monday, October 16, 2023 Report this