Visiting Walmart earlier in the week, my heart filled with hope and happiness for in the aisles in all their glory, bulbs grace the shelves. Peonys. Dahlias. Daffodils. Starts for onions and potatoes. Asparagus. Bare root berries and roses. The hope that fills my heart when looking at my new tubers is reassuring and comforting. Dormant now, their beauty waiting for spring.
There is so much to be done in the garden while it sleeps. Tillage of my soil, depleted and hardened. Amendments like gypsum, compost, fertilizer, and ash will help to make a nutrient rich bed for plants. Rose bushes need to be neatly pruned. Irises need to be separated and spread around the yard. All while I do my best to shield Oliver’s observant little eyes and nose from new things to dig up.
Oliver has been spending more time outside, running and playing. During his times, he loves being a stealth terror. My solar lights are slowly disappearing, one by one, as he plucks them out of the ground to devour the plastic sticks. His little dirt covered nose betrayed his quest to uncover my sleeping peony. He searches for the last dried apple hidden in the bark, while barking at his friends across the fence. We are both looking forward to spring, tired of being hidden away in the house.
Days in the high desert are warming slowly. The sun’s radiance makes outdoor activities pleasant, but, a real gardener cannot get lured into the belief that spring is here. There are more days of winter to come. Storms that arise out of nowhere and bring back the intense cold and snow are coming. No, it isn’t over yet.
Ten months ago, WINTERPAST (Song of Solomon 2:10-14, the name of my home) didn’t hold my roots in her clutches. I didn’t know her nightly groans and creaks. I couldn’t have appreciated the respite she would provide from the heat of summer and the cold of winter. I didn’t know how she would buffer the howling winds of widowhood, wrapped around me like a comfy robe. She has done all that and more. It will be a pleasure to adorn her with the most beautiful flowers and plants. She looks her best when dressed in life.
Seeds of hope will be in the ground soon. I hope that the next two months are kind to Oliver and me. The last part of our first year journey through the wilderness of widowhood could be the toughest. Every day, I need to cling to faith and hope, while choosing happiness and laughter.
Emerson said,
“Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs:
Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave.”
A limited number of springs to dress Winterpast in her finest flowers have I, mine to tend and love for a little while. Although I grieve, I am a gardener first. It is the garden that will heal my soul and help me through the saddest of sads. With that said, I look forward to planting hope just outside my door.