Grief In A Desert Garden

 

We've been planting a garden in the desert for the past five years. I call it a labor of love. We begin in early spring by planting seeds in little cups that sit under grow lights on a warming pad to encourage growth. The seeds are carefully watered and we watch for a speck of green, the tiniest proof of life, as if we're waiting for chicks to hatch.

Sometime in May little seedlings are moved from the safety of grow lights to the harsh sunlight and wind of the garden. They are covered at night with blankets to protect them from cold and frosty air. The tiny seedlings are nurtured for many days and nights until they are strong enough to survive on their own.

Some seeds are planted directly into the rich soil of the garden...peas, beets, lettuces, radishes and cucumbers. These seeds thrive in the cool days and nights of early spring and don't require as much attention as their counterparts that sprouted indoors. 

Life in the garden comes and goes as vegetables and fruits ripen and their season comes to an end. The strawberries and raspberries have all been harvested, eaten or made into jam. The peas, beets and radishes are gone leaving open spaces of brown soil where they once flourished. Peas and radishes were eaten and the beets put in jars. Cucumbers became pickles.

As we began pulling out the cucumber vines, bees heavily laden with pollen danced around the remaining blossoms. We tugged and cut the yellow green vines from the trellis and pulled the roots from the ground. Cucumbers still hanging on the vines were plucked and put in a basket. As I stood there with vines all around my feet I couldn't help but feel sadness at the loss of this beautiful plant I had cared for in early spring and thankful for all it had given us. 

In the garden we experience the cycle of life. In the spring new life appears in the garden...bright green and full of blossoms. As the season progresses, the sun and wind brown the edges of leaves and green becomes muted and yellow. When all the berries and vegetables have been harvested, after plants have given their all, winter comes, snow falls and a hush falls upon the garden. We are left with faith and knowledge that spring will come again. 

I struggle with grief...the loss of my mother in 2019 and the passing of Sara, my daughter-in-marriage, in 2020. Grief is a complex and complicated emotion and for me it has been driven by guilt for what I did or didn't do to help my mom on her final journey. Sara and I communicated by text during the last days of her life. The conversations were sweet and poignant. I hugged her one last time, but I could not express to her in words how much she meant to me and how grateful I was that she lived and how grateful I was that she loved my son. 

Needless to say, my life continues with its ups and downs. My garden reminds me that spring does come again and life recreates itself. 

Happily, there are always surprises in the garden.