Grieving Gardener

Last weekend, as many as 125,000 people came together in California to attend the Coachella music festival. There were no terrorists dropping from the sky. No machine gun murders. Just fresh music that everyone attending enjoyed.

Listening to the whining about terribly long wait times (45 minutes) for valet parking was a bit funny. The food was outrageously expensive, with a cup of lemonade costing $20 and a meal for two (tacos, nachos, burgers, and drinks) at $300.00. There were long lines and plenty to fret about. Of course, tickets were $600 and up, so there was that, as well. Not many seemed to remember that once, not that long ago, there was a truly horrendous festival.

During this most holy week, please take a moment to reflect on the other music festival that ended in horror. SuperNova Music Festival — Israel — October 7, 2023. On those desolate festival grounds, 378 people were murdered by terrorists and forty-four souls were kidnapped. Alon Ohel was one of them. At this time, he is still being held underground by his captors.

Of those 44, five Americans (living and deceased) remain held hostage by the enemy. Edan Alexander was still alive as of February 15. Itay Chin, Gadi Haggai, Judy Weinstein, and Omer Neutra Z”L are deceased. Their bodies are held hostage to this day.

Yesterday, a new video caught my eye. I hope you watch it. The song, “Superman” was originally written in memory of 9-11. The songwriter rewrote the lyrics for the hostages and performed in Hostage Square in Tel Aviv.

Please. Listen to the song. Take a moment to send prayers for Alon, and his mom, Idet Ohel. She’s sitting at the piano. It’s time her very own “Superman” is back home in her arms.

More tomorrow.

Saturday, our population here at Winterpast increased by 10,000. The bees made the journey from the lush northern valley of California over Donner Pass and right to our door. No, they didn’t fly themselves. Our dear friends delivered them as only dear friends would do.

The morning started with a quick trip to the hardware store to buy more mulch. Not sure how many bags we’ve brought home this year, but I think it’s close to 100. This morning, HHH wanted to be sure that the bees had fresh mulch under their bench. He quickly leveled their water fountain and made sure their hive was at a light incline to shed any spring rains that might hit. We were ready.

We’d had a scare very early in the morning. The Queen of the Bees, our sweet mentor had called in a panic. Did we have the order number for the bees? The company had no record of our purchase. Now, when you’ve paid as much as a hive full of bees cost, this can make your heart skip a beat.

Luckily, earlier in the week, I found one little handwritten paper showing our order number and the type of bees we ordered.

“Ohhhh. Yes, we have that order right here!!!” the company was quick to assure us. Thank goodness my organizational skills are as good as ever. Wish I could say the same for the bee company.

Well, the waiting was a bit tough, with excitement building through the morning. Finally, just before noon, they pulled in. Along with our one hive, they had a full truck. Ours were right in the back and easy to grab.

HHH and I were already in full suits waiting to install the bees into their brand new home. In less than ten minutes the job was done and the bees were fed. No screaming or stinging took place. Just the movement of five frames of bees from their NUC box to our hive. Easy peasy.

We had asked if our mentors would need some help installing their bees and they jumped at the chance to have help. At the first stop, we installed 12 hives. At the second stop we installed 16 hives. They had one more stop after that, but we decided they could handle the four hives themselves.

Saturday, we learned so many things about the bees. The ones that hang around the hive being easy to transport are the worker bees that live in the hive. The ones that fly around are the foragers, who can be quite upset when you move them. Each hive got a feeder full of 1:1 sugar syrup and a pollen patty.

With each hive, we met the queen. Our mentor inspected them and had kind words for each which made each installation very special. Her touch of kindness was appropriate for these hives that were quite happy to be in their new homes. While five of us worked with all those hives and bees, not one person was stung. While we didn’t use smoke to calm them, we did wear our suits for protection.

It’s a great feeling to know that at four different houses there are happy bees ready to pollinate their areas. Honeybees can fly in a two mile radius, which is really quite amazing. They live only 45 days with new bees constantly replenishing the hive. The hives have a peaceful hum when they are happy and and get quite loud when they are not.

Now, we wait. In two weeks, we’ll take a look inside and see how things are going. Of the four homes that received bees today, only one had a hive that survived over the winter. Only one. All of us agree. The amount of times we can try again is limited. Bee keeping isn’t a cheap hobby. But, it is one that is addicting.

Whatever you do today, get outside. If you happen to have a yard and plants, watch for honey bees. They’re fun to watch with a full cup of morning coffee and hope in your heart. The world needs our bees. Please pray for a great year.

High on a hill overlooking Winterpast sits a lonely mansion. I don’t use that term loosely. Five years ago, when I moved to Winterpast, the mystery of the mansion was already years old. On its lofty perch, it watches over the rest of us who live in the low-lying areas. In all its grandeur, it’s been missing one thing. A family.

The home was built long ago by the man that built Winterpast. I met him one time under strange circumstances.

When I moved into Winterpast in 2020, I had things from many past lives. There were the high school Algebra books cherished from my days as a continuation high school teacher. I owned a complete set of Kinder-8th-grade language arts books and workbooks. There were books covering such a variety of subjects that any teacher would be drooling. But, I still owned some things from my days as a farmer that had to go.

In the garage sat two five gallon jugs of very old chemicals from my vineyard. One jug held Round-Up, which has turned into a bad name in non-farming circles. The other held a soil sterilant called Surflan. These two jugs were at least twenty years old and I must admit, even I was getting a little freaked out about having them in the garage.

There was one small problem. Northwestern Nevada has no place to dispose of chemicals like the ones I had in my possession. I was left to my own resourcefulness to find a home for them.

It was then I thought of a gentleman that had a ranchette not far from Winterpast. He owned four horses and had a sizeable amount of property. I’d see he and his son burning weeds often, and it came to me. He was a man who could use these chemicals in the right way.

One day, I wrote the man a letter complimenting him on his ginormous American flag waving high over his property. After explaining who I was, I asked if he might have a use for the chemicals I was trying to re-home. I got a call from him the evening after I’d dropped off the letter. A resounding YES!

When delivering the chemicals, I found he was, indeed, the man who had done a lot of the construction on the neighborhood. It was he who had built the home for himself, but then the building boom crashed in 2008. He lost the house.

This place is a beauty. Sitting atop the highest hill in town, she overlooks the entire town. At over 10,000 feet and three stories, she’s complete with an elevator all her own. A gourmet kitchen and views that just don’t stop. At $2,999,999, she should have all that with a butler included.

I snuck an online peek of this beautiful home the other day. Needing to leave some personal information before I could look, I got a call from the realtor handling the listing. After explaining I was just a nosey neighbor without the $2,999,999 to buy the home, he asked if I was related to the mayor.

That’s life in a very small, but growing, town. Everyone has gone to school with everyone and their brother’s grandson. I love it so much. You never know the strangers with whom you might find connections, especially if you’re related to the mayor and his huge family.

As for the mansion, there she sits. One evening a few weeks back, she was bathed in lights, not something that has happened in five years. Looking at the realtor’s pictures, I realized that was the night she went on the market.

Whatever you do today, if you are thinking of buying a mansion on a hill, check her out. She is truly a gem located in one of the best towns in the US.

More on Monday.

As the days get longer, at Winterpast the birds are chirping and the world is a “Pinterest-Perfect” shade of green. On our way home from a spa weekend, we decided to embrace the season and do something every gardener loves: buy the first flowers of the season. Not just any flowers, mind you, but those that thrive in our zone, Zone 7.

It all began innocently enough. HHH checked the weather and found a long list of 70’s and 80’s listed as the highs for the following week. The universe spoke to us. With an early check out and before retrieving Ollie and Wookie from puppy camp, we headed to the local garden center.
Although so early the doors were still locked, just outside, flowers lined the building.

Walking through rows of blooming flowers, we were hit with sensory overload. The earthy smell of soil and vibrant colors of petals in every corner were calming and therapeutic. Our heads were on swivels as we found a little of this and a little of that while our basket overflowed.

There were so many options. Did we want flowers for “shade” or “sun”? Perennials or annuals? Remembering last year’s garden, it was easy to select plants with which we’d been successful. Good thing those happened to be our favorites.

Johnny Jump Ups, Marigolds, Geraniums, and roses made the cut.

It was when we were both drooling over the FoxGlove that we were interrupted.

“Excuse me,” the lady with the hose said, as she interrupted our gaze. “Those are poisonous. They contain digitalis that can affect your heart.”

Remembering last year’s Foxglove, we decided to take a chance again this year. Although this gorgeous plant only lasted a season, we both loved every day with it. We didn’t poison ourselves and enjoyed the blooms for the entire summer. We bought one big, beautiful plant despite her warning.

Without a coat, HHH warmed up in the sunshine while I took our plants through the checkout. As nursery visits go, this one wasn’t too bad. As I was paying, HHH hurried to the counter with two more roses.

“Wait, we need these, too.” And, of course he was right, we did.

After putting everything in the car, we looked at each other and realized that, at that price, we needed two more rose bushes.

Returning home, we found daffodils in bloom with the iris not far behind. The Peony’s grow inches each day as they stretch towards the sun. The cherry trees are beginning to bloom and will provide delicious nectar for the bees arriving on Saturday. Spring is such a lovely time of year.

The garden is a place for renewal and growth. Flowers bloom, leaves sprout, and trees regain their color. It’s a season of transformation with the visible world moved by the deeper rhythms of nature. The garden is once again thriving, and what appeared to be dead or lost is now flourishing in ways that weren’t imaginable during the darkest days of winter.

Much like perennial plants that return year after year, we, too, can find ways to heal and grow, even after the harshest times in life. The garden’s resilience teaches us that growth often follows pain and that beauty and strength can rise from the most difficult circumstances.

Whatever you do today, enjoy some fresh, crisp spring air and get outside a little bit. All the better if you have a yard to tinker with. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find yourself standing in the garden center checkout with roses in hand!

More tomorrow.

Plants need three things to thrive: light, love, and a generous bank account to afford potting soil and water. In this modern world where avocado toast costs more than a burger, fries, and a shake, you might think that potting soil and water are affordable luxuries. Around Winterpast, that isn’t the case. Our water bill costs more than air conditioning in August.

Potting soil, which is essentially dirt, is the humble hero of every gardening enthusiast’s dream. Yet, it comes with a price tag that suggests it’s packed with rare minerals mined on the moon. Last week, we popped into Lowe’s feeling optimistic, only to find that the “organic” mix is twice the price it was last year. Why? Well, because it’s special. They say it’s enriched with nutrients and promises to make your garden into a jungle. Indeed, the “Boost” we’ve been using does tremendous things for budding plants.

The truth of the matter is, if you want your plants to thrive, you’re going to have to fork over $$$ for what feels like glorified sand. Be sure to buy the best ingredients you can afford to have the best outcome. Soil matters. These days, plain old dirt won’t do.

Water is the universal life force and drink of champions. Growing up, I used to think water was free. How naive I was to believe that. Water is “free” in the sense that it falls from the, sky and fills the Truckee River. After that, it transforms into liquid gold. There’s an interesting pattern here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. Since we turned the water back on after the winter freezes, our water bill has started to look like a ransom note. Because of this, we’ve decided buying broccolli or cabbage makes more sense than wasting the water. How did this happen?

Our water must be laced with gold. It sure feels like it. We’re not trying to fill an Olympic swimming pool. I’m just giving our poor roses a little drink. But alas, every drop that falls into plants sendsthe water meter into a frenzy. Our yard is beautiful, but the bank account is a bit parched. Maybe next time, we’ll just give the plants a motivational speech instead of water. “Listen, Peonys, I know times are tough, but you’ve got this.”

Potting soil and water, in the grand scheme of things, are just two small expenses on the long list of things you’ll throw money at in the name of self-care. But as you water your plants and add another bag of fancy dirt to your cart, just remember: you’re not alone. Every plant enthusiast is quietly wondering why their houseplants are now so much more expensive than last year.

So, the next time you’re holding a bag of potting soil in your hand and questioning the price, just remind yourself: this is what it takes to create your own little paradise. If nothing else, remember that gardening is just a little bit dirtier—and a lot more expensive—than we thought.

It’s been……..

43,824 hours.

1,830 days.

60 Months.

Five Years Gone.

Thinking back over the amount of time since VST left us, my mind plays tricks. Some days, it seems his death happened a lifetime ago, while other days, the memories are so fresh they seem like they were made yesterday. I guess our minds are like that sometimes.

I married VST in a strip-mall church in Fresno, California on a cold day in January. I wore a beautiful wedding dress, which horrified my mother because I was a divorcee. Actually, I managed to horrify my poor mom a lot as a wild spirit of the 70’s.

That day, VST and I didn’t really know what the future would hold but we were willing to take a chance. And boy, what a ride it was. With one 6 year-old, two 8 year-olds, and twins that were 11, we took the reins and rode off into the sunset. Just didn’t know the twilight of his years would come so soon.

Five years ago, on April 8th, 2020, my sweet VST left this earth on the Zephyr winds of Virgina City, Nevada. That morning, the kids had just run to the store for a moment to get some more moving boxes. After checking on him, I opened the bedroom door a crack to the beautiful spring morning so he could sneak away. In the time it took to pour another cup of coffee, he did.

There will never be enough pages in enough books to explain our life together. Not enough laughter or tears to explain the journey after those two young lovers exchanged their vows so long ago.

To VST. You know every word of the story. Thank you for making sure everything would be great. You made sure it always was. I’m doing a pretty good job of making sure it still is.

A deafening silence settled on my soul after I lost love to cancer in 2020. The stillness and loneliness of an unknown wilderness stretched ahead, bringing with it a quiet ache, as life itself was dramatically altered. At first, it felt like a storm, crashing over every part of me, while I wondered if I’d ever truly find my way back. As time moved on, my heart proved its resiliency. It broke, but also healed. Some years later, I found love when least expecting it.

Widowhood later in life is common, but that doesn’t make the pain any easier. Whether experiencing the end of a relationship, friendship, dream, grief leaves its mark. At first, there was deep emptiness as I examined the devastation left behind. I spent days trying to fill that void with a variety of distractions that might make the silence a little less overwhelming.

After a while, it became apparent that no matter how much I tried to fill it, that empty space was still there. That void of emptiness had to heal on its own time. I couldn’t rush past the pain because healing isn’t about avoiding the hurt, but about sitting with it while accepting the lessons that appear.

The journey through loss is different for everyone, but one thing remains the same: you are forever changed. There’s a part of me that will always carry the memories, the lessons, and even the scars from the love I’ve lost. But there’s also a part of me that’s learned how to live again while choosing happiness.

The process of rediscovering myself has been a wild ride. I used to ask myself, “Who am I without VST?” or “What do I truly want from life?” It was a confusing time when my identity was shaken. But, in the chaos of trying to rebuild, I began to understand myself in new ways. I found things that made me happy, new excitement, and worthwhile dreams. I nurtured neglected passions and dreams that’d been put on hold. By God’s grace and mercy, it was through this rediscovery that I found peace again.

Finally, the time was right, and love found its way back to Winterpast. Marriage to HHH doesn’t erase the pain or loss as if it never happened. Instead, it brought a new layer of hope and possibility to life. HHH and I understood the depths of loss, yet still dared to believe in new beginnings. Love is the thing that makes life rich, meaningful, and worth living.

Finding love again, especially after we thought we might never feel it again, is a powerful reminder that life is full of second chances. We’ve experienced such beauty while taking the pieces of who we were and building something new. HHH and I have learned love isn’t just something that happened to us—it’s something we’ve created, nurtured, and something we very much deserve.

Love at this stage in life is different. It’s more mature and rooted in self-awareness. It’s not from a place of need, but from a place of sharing and growth.

And now, you might ask, “Would you choose to do it all again?”

A thousand times, YES. The last 2.5 years have been worth more than gold.

If you’re reading this during your own grief, know that the journey is not where life ends. It’s just the beginning of something new. You will heal. You will grow. And someday, when the time is right, love will find you again—not as a replacement, but as a beautiful reminder that life, no matter how hard, always offers us a chance to love and be loved again.

It’s exactly the thing HHH and I are so lucky to have found.

More tomorrow.

The incredibly personal journey through grief has at times been isolating and overwhelming. The loss of a loved one while going through life-changing events left me feeling lost, with emotions too heavy to bear. Overwhelmed, the quiet spaces at Winterpast have become my gentle place to heal.

In 2020, HHH and I lost our spouses. Married to high school friends, we’d enjoyed marriage for a combined total of 50 years. We were both blessed with happy, fulfilling relationships while married to our best friends. When they died, grief could have devoured us, if not for our respective gardens.

Gardening has offered profound comfort to HHH and I during such difficult times. There’s something inherently therapeutic about the act of planting seeds, nurturing growth, and watching life bloom. When the world felt sorrowful, the process of gardening provided an anchor and opportunity for reflection, connection, and a sense of peace.

Gardening grounded us. Whether digging in the soil or simply tending to a small patch of flowers, the earth drew us back to the present moment. Grief often pulled me into a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, many of which felt out of my control. Gardening was an invitation to slow down and connect with nature, while focusing on something requiring patience and care.

The tactile experience of touching the earth, feeling the texture of the soil, and planting seeds offered a simple, calming rhythm that was soothing. In the moment there was no pressure to figure everything out. Nature doesn’t rush because growth takes time, just as emotional healing does.

In 2020, my world stopped, while life at Winterpast continued. Planting seeds is an act of faith while believing that something new will grow, even when the ground feels barren. As the days pass and shoots of green appear, a beautiful metaphor appears, mirroring healing happening in small and imperceptible steps. And so it was for me.

I adore the quiet of a garden, where there’s space to reflect, feel, and express. Grief was often accompanied by a flood of emotions hard to articulate. While tending to plants, I found a place of solitude where these emotions flowed freely without judgment. During the quiet days of Covid, my shattered heart began to mend as the seasons came and went. Over time, the garden itself becomes a reflection of the strength and resilience I carried within, even when the devastation of cancer left me broken.

Although HHH and I will never “get over” our grief, we ARE healing “through” it. Time has helped new love flourish. Together, we’ve found ways to nurture and comfort each other. Gardening offers just that—a gentle, therapeutic way to connect with nature, express our feelings, and witness the quiet miracle of growth while finding our way towards new life. As two grieving gardeners are blessed in so many ways.

After five years living here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, I’ve become used to seeing wild horses. The horses were good neigh-bors, never really meaning harm to anyone. Seeing them would brighten my day with their new spring foals. Like the seasons, they would appear and disappear like clockwork.

Until.

They.

Disappeared.

Simple as that. They are no more to be found.

Now, this is very strange that they disappeared just about the time HHH and I really started thinking about fencing Winterpast. HHH is itching to plant beautiful roses and flowers in the front yard. Those things don’t mix too well with grazing mustangs, and so, we requested an estimate.

After receiving a ridiculously high quote for the fence, we noticed the “problem” was now gone. Day after day, I hoped to see the white mare who sheltered next to my house through many winter storms. She and the others have disappeared. It’s difficult to make one hundred 1500 pound animals disappear unless helicopters and trailers are involved.

With their disappearance arrived a letter about the latest planning commission meeting to discuss proposed industrial districts. A new highway through the hills will meet up with the interstate. New parks and more houses will be built. None of these goals include herds of wild mustangs roaming wide open plains.

Silently, with stealth, helicopters, and trailers, our mustangs were removed. Quite probably, they were moved to the feedlot just north of us, awaiting those new owners who will never come. After a time, they’ll take one more trailer ride towards the wide open plains in the sky.

Here at Winterpast, the front yard plans are less complicated now. With no wildlife around, (except the squirrel), a fence-less facelift with paint and plants is in our future. Of course, a new band of horses could be working their way towards us just in time to eat the new roses. Sometimes, that’s how things go in the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.

As we drive to Walmart, there’s real sadness in the empty desert. With the logistics of the many manufacturing victories around here, the loss of the horses will be permanent. Now, I’m just an old one remembering our neighborhood visits. The fate of the white winter-night mare standing guard just outside my bedroom when widowhood was new will haunt me forever. Run free, old girl.

Whatever you do today, take time to appreciate things in your life that could be gone tomorrow. Take pictures. Stop for a minute to appreciate our open spaces. Far too quickly, you may find things have changed “for the better”.

More tomorrow

They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique
And a swinging hot spot

They took all the trees
Put ’em in a tree museum
Then they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see ’em

Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone?
They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot — Joni Mitchell

Once upon a time, there was a lovely little park nestled inside our little town. For decades, this little park has been the spot where littles learned to swing and their parents came for a little breath of fresh air.

Surrounding this little park were the most beautiful cottonwood trees. If these trees could talk, they would have stories to tell. Watching generations of locals grow from those tiny tots on swings to grandparents swinging their own littles, they gave shade and comfort on very hot summer days.

Until.

One.

Day.

Just like the mustangs, urbanization brings with it difficult changes. In the case of the cottonwood trees, a chain saw took care of the problem of “liabilities”. In one week’s time, the “Park” has no more trees.

All in the name of making things more modern, the tiny little park is now adorned with colorful awnings. Awnings/6 – Trees/-8. Primary colors provide a dot of shade here or there, while the loveliness of the wind blowing through the leaves of those mature cottonwood trees is just a memory.

When did it become necessary to cut down trees that are more than 1/2 century old? Yes. Things change. Things die. Dat be true. But, these trees had been doing their job shading a park until someone that hadn’t spent much time at “In-Town Park” decided they needed to go.

Our little town needs so much more than chain-saw activity. As our population grows each week, the number of restaurants, grocery stores, and services remain the same. Each week, the paper lists scores of new business permits for things that a growing town doesn’t need, while the traffic congestion gets worse. There must have been a little better use of funds and time than removing beautiful trees that cleaned our air and calmed the spirit.

Now, this little park is quite barren. The earth is being ripped open to put a walking trail around this tiny piece of ground. Last Saturday, parents sat in the open sun while watching their daughters play softball. I would guess the park won’t get much use on a summer day here in the desert, unless one is lucky enough to get under one of the colorful patches of shade.

There’s really nothing more to say about this sad situation. Joni Mitchell had it right. Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone…..