In a perfect world, a couple of decades from now, this is how they’ll find me. In some quiet backyard on the perfect island of Molokai. My right arm propped up slightly to support my head like a pillow. The softest robe of miniature clover will give me protection from the soft Hawaiian rains. No doubt, my extremely straight hair will resemble the sea grasses growing here. Having just laid in the cool of the garden for a moment, I’ll slip away. Two or three decades from now, in the garden on the perfect island of Molokai.
On some days, when my tomato plant hasn’t even grown 1/2″ in the last month, or my shriveled roses struggle, I really consider moving to the islands. Hawaii was our trip to the beach. VST’s and mine. It didn’t take much to get us moving in that direction. We visited 30 times over the years. If we had only put our trip money towards a beach house, we could have had a nice one. We visited so often that in many ways it became home.
For one year, I’d like to curse thriving plants that grow inches in the night. With a color of green so lush and deep, the dense foliage would beckon me to walk further into the jungle. That would be just feet from my back door. Tropical flowers sprouting from every possible plant with fragrances oily and rich. Fruits ripe and ready for the picking. In my mind’s eye, I go to the islands as often as I can to sit with the memories made there, as soft as the trade winds gentle caress.
The reality is, I live in the desert. In 2015, my springtime trip to the garden center involved the purchase of everything that grew beautifully in California. Delicate plants begged to be potted in designer containers and placed on our enormous deck in Virginia City. Over and over, as if the angels of darkness had planned it, an unexpected frost would come to kill. Any hope of colorful spring blossoms would be dashed.
I don’t buy what they’re selling anymore. If it isn’t a succulent or cactus, it won’t survive. Succulents and cactus only live until the killing frosts and snows of late fall. In the spring, we begin again, wishing again that maybe this year will be different. Well, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. Right?
Most of the neighbors around here have embraced desert landscapes. Not that it makes them happy, it’s just cheaper and easier to accept reality. Since 2004, Winterpast has been home to oasis dwellers. Those of us not willing to let the green die water. And water. And water some more. I’m so thankful for the first owners of Winterpast and their vision for gardens with paths and green lawn. For planting roses and fruit trees. For setting out bulbs that shoot up through the snow to say hello before anything else is green. For my apricot tree, as big and wide as a banyan.
The maintenance on keeping all this watered is costly. This weekend, my gardener, Mr. B will come and work his magic on the sprinkler system that waters the back of the property. Broken since the summer of 2020, it’s time that it works on its timer. Broken solenoids are annoying. They’re also very expensive. Hence is the life of the gardener.
In April, 2020, I was the grieving gardener. I spent countless hours manicuring my yard through tears. Weeds were plucked as soon as they sprouted. Everything was fed on time. I replaced every emitter as fast as Oliver ate them up. I put out special lighting and I grieved. Oh, how I grieved.
Two years ago, the lush grass of Winterpast was the site of VST’s memorial with 45 of his closest friends and family. On that day, I wish I could have laid on the lawn and been swallowed up by the lawn. Thank goodness I wasn’t. That wasn’t the plan.
Each month on the 8th, a lonely widow went out to release balloons showing the number of months since her beloved “HE” had gone away. Each month at precisely 10:30 AM, muffled sobs came from Winterpast until finally, on a windy day in April, the last 12 balloons floated towards the heaven and one year gone.
Winterpast and her gardens have sheltered me through the seasons twice. She’s helped me to focus on the needs of my gardens, moving towards a different phase of grief and a different stage in life. Acceptance and healing.
Living in Hawaii is high on my bucket list. I imagine Oliver would like it, too. A year of morning walks on the beach. Of course, it would involve the most intense year of gardening ever.
Bucket lists are a funny thing. VST and I never shared one. When we came up with a worthy dream, we made it a reality. He always reminded me that someday might never come. Today is the day to embrace every worthy dream. That’s the way we rolled through one adventure after another, never looking back with regret.
With the desert heat to reach 100 today, I need to roll right outside and get to work. The weeds around here laugh at me. They know this old woman just might let them live for a few days more.
Whatever you choose to do today, find time to sit with some memories of your own. Grieve what you must, but also spend time celebrating the happy’s of your life. Being grateful makes life wonderful.
More tomorrow.