Last week, Tim the gardener made his first appearance of the season at my property. Since Lee’s death, this has become an annual rite of Spring.
Before I used Tim’s services, I depended on Lee to excavate and rescue the previous year’s growth from the harsh remnants of winter’s bramble. In her day, she would already have been hard at it: tidying the flower beds, pruning, digging, planting, pulling out garden tchotchkes, nearly too numerous to mention, from winter storage in our basement. It looked like hard work to me, yet Lee thrived on it. Hers was a labor of love.
Me? I will dabble in the garden. It is not a passion but very much a chore. And I’m more than happy to hire out the work for Tim, who has both the tools and the technical know-how. Indeed, in my heart, I know that if it depended upon my own labor, this beautiful garden would go to seed in no time, quickly becoming an eyesore. I cannot permit it. It would be a disservice to Lee’s memory.
Throughout my life, I have been drawn to nature and the outdoors. As importantly, however, these trees, flowers, grasses, birds, butterflies, bees, and other assorted garden creatures connect me to her. Happily, this connection gets renewed each Spring, year after year.
In the immediate aftermath of Tim’s visit, hints of a fresh, fully formed garden have emerged. Seeing this is the real payoff for Lee’s years of effort to create a beautiful, lasting green space for us. I often say that I am the undeserving beneficiary of her largess. I am humbled, yet grateful.
