Whether we were here at home or at Deer Tick Manor, friends and neighbors would drop by with their “green” questions for Lee or stop to solicit her recommendations about the best garden center while running errands on a weekend or ask her to provide the internet address of her reliable online supplier or identify her latest “must have” garden tool or gadget. Mostly, folks would stop simply to admire Lee’s garden handiwork and to relax a bit. At certain times they might land an invite to stay for one or two tasty vodka tonics with a dash of Cointreau and slice of lime, and snacks.
As I have mentioned in previous posts, Lee was an avid, talented, and indefatigable gardener. And even in her last few weeks of life, Lee was not going to waste an otherwise perfect warm June day inside the house feeling sorry for herself. By then she was very sick and suffering the worst symptoms of late-stage cancer; nonetheless, day after day Lee continued to putter outdoors in one her gardens until she eventually got so depleted even minimal activity became impossible for her. I assumed she wanted a few private moments, that she needed moments of solitude. She could still enjoy the pleasure of her plants under a warming sun, but with bitter knowledge that this simple pleasure was fleeting, that time itself was running out and there was no way for us to slow or stop it. I have since wondered what thoughts the fragrance of June hyacinth being carried on a gentle summer breeze is capable of inspiring in someone who is being forced by circumstances to directly face her own mortality. Surely, at such moments Lee must have been taking stock of her life, her legacy, her many relationships, reminiscences of a childhood spent in Grand Haven, a happy memory about a time she accompanied her father to the pier where he liked to fish; also, inevitably, visions of the future she was never going to experience firsthand. I feel quite certain that she spent more time worrying about me being left behind than of her own rapidly approaching death. I hope she took some time to recall the wonderful times we had, so many happy days that we enjoyed together, so many wonderful memories that remain alive in me.
Watching her alone in her garden, I would have to resist the temptation to intrude as by this time we both realized how things were going to end for us. There was nothing left to say that could produce a happier outcome for her.
These sad memories pour out of me today the moment I walk onto the back deck to admire a spring garden of flowers and fresh green shoots that seem to have burst from the ground overnight without much prompting from me. These gardens are but the slightest and least important parts of Lee’s legacy, of course, yet today they are a welcome sight and a tangible reminder that she lived her life. She shared that life with me, and I am grateful for it.
I imagine that to a real gardener, seeing her garden in this early state is the annual payoff for all the hard work and long hours spent during previous seasons breaking up the hard ground, painstakingly removing each new plant or flower from a flat and gently shaking free the roots before carefully inserting it into its designated spot in the garden, or a planter, adding nourishing potting soil or pungent manure, thereafter forever tasked with keeping the thing well-watered, protected by a blanket of mulch, tirelessly fighting off the threatening weeds from the first growing day of the season until the season comes to its end.
Maintaining Lee’s gardens both here and at Deer Tick has become an important article of faith for me. Over time I will give some serious thought to why this is the case, although it might boil down to the simple fact that I enjoy natural beauty as much as she did. However, I already know that I have zero interest in becoming a gardener myself. I know that I lack the necessary patience. Furthermore, while I greatly enjoy physical exertion while I am engaged in a sport or other fun activity, I abhor hard, physical work, especially when there is no immediate payoff—for example, gardening work.
I have discovered lately that I am very good at writing checks to talented gardeners. My gardening philosophy is be prepared to spend whatever is reasonably needed to maintain the grounds, so long as someone else performs the maintenance.
I ventured out one warm mid-week afternoon recently and returned home with six flats of ground cover, a corresponding large amount of manure and ambitious plans to fill a bare area on my property here where the grass stubbornly refuses to grow. In my unthinking exuberance, I fool myself to imagine, well, here is something I easily can do myself while simultaneously taking advantage of a surprising and unexpected mild early spring and getting a bit of healthy exercise in the bargain.
However, this past week, as changing temperatures continue to hover nearly 20 degrees below normal for May, it feels even colder than the measured air temperature due to a persistent and uncomfortable northwest wind pattern. Yet, here I stand, mired, soaking wet, cold, muddy to my cuffs, after giving this barren, lifeless, bone dry, hard packed soil a thorough hand watering merely to insert my spade sufficiently deep to turn and break it up a little bit. Next, I transport and spread 40-pound bags of rank, stinking manure before raking it smooth and leaving this new mixture to “rest” several days to better accommodate six flats of ground cover. As of this publication, I am only about one-quarter finished prepping the full target area. I must continue to water the ground cover, still in the flats, to keep it from drying out and dying before I even manage to get it in the ground.
Stepping back to view my handiwork, I am reminded of Larry McMurtry’s literary masterpiece, Lonesome Dove, and in particular the end saga of Captain Call, who, as readers may recall, promises his recently deceased compadre, Gus McRae, that he will transport his remains overland from the wilderness of Montana to a final resting place in a scrub grove located someplace in south Texas. Lee was my dear compadre, and, like the good Captain, I am determined to complete this task no matter how long it takes or how arduous the journey turns out to be. A fool’s errand indeed.
Meanwhile, I have also reached out to my professional gardener here regarding our next steps for the month of May. He instructs me to get annuals for the numerous planters along with sufficient potting soil within the next one to two weeks, but also to get multiple bags of mulch to prepare the native grass garden at the rear of the property for its annual major growth spurt, which will occur in the next few weeks.
We still must clarify whether he expects me to perform the “spade” work to complete these additional projects. If I’m not careful, in addition to owning a dog I could end up a gardener.
