Grieving Gardener

I’ve had the garden tidied up,
As they would have me do.
These little pals who couldn’t stay
To see the season through.
The flowers were their dearest friends,
The garden was their own,
I’ve watched their work, but never knew
The things that they had grown.
Their catalogues keep coming, and
Their garden magazine;
I run across the queerest names,
And study what they mean,
I read them all, from end to end,
And when the spring is here,
I’ll have a garden just like theirs,
As though my friends were near.
Albert H. PEDRICK

We are all just the caretakers of today, not really owning anything. I came after a long line of TRUE gardeners that created the beauty of Winterpast. Each spring, new plants make an appearance, and I struggle to keep things looking like a real gardener lives here. For my new readers, let me explain.

I moved to Winterpast seventeen days after my husband, VST, died of cancer, a train wreck that took him away in only nine weeks. We knew each other for 50 years, harmonizing in high school choir. Lost in a widow’s fog so dense, I started reading a book by Jan Karon about a little town that doesn’t exist. Woven into the book were stories about Mitford and the people that live there. The story of a mansion named Winterpast unfolded.

Winterpast is place we want to be as a new widow. It’s a place where healing is starting to take root. A place of hope. A place where you can sleep soundly, waking up without the daily shock of an empty pillow next to yours. A place where you finally find your footing to carry on down the path out of the first brutal days of widowhood. I was lucky enough to find a home that is my Winterpast. I named her that.

Cared for by amazing gardeners before me, my yard is a true desert oasis. No matter the problem, Winterpast is my place of answers. In the cold, she keeps me warm. While I sleep, she keeps me safe. Cocoon-like, she’s let me spout new wings and rise to meet each day. Somedays, she is the only purpose I have. As a retiree, that’s the way it should be at this stage in life.

In memory of a sweet gardener that lived here before me, I end with verses from Song of Solomon 2:11-13 (NKJV). It is from these words that my Winterpast came to be.

For lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of singing has come,
And the voice of the turtledove
Is heard in our land.
The fig tree puts forth her green figs,
And the vines with the tender grapes
Give a good smell.
Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away!

Heaven will be lovelier now that this beautiful man has gone to his favorite girl. May they have endless gardens to enjoy. I promise, I’ll take care of the weeds and watering around here.

I love you, CY. My prayers are with you.

More tomorrow.

The first time I visited the gardens of Winterpast, I knew I wanted to be the one to tend to her. Each day, I do something in the yard. Winter is a great time to dream of spring plantings. Haven’t we all fallen for the sweetest blooms at the nursery, only to find the place we chose to plant it wasn’t right? So frustrating in the expensive times in which we live today. If you live in a spot where things grow on their own, feel lucky. The desert is unforgiving. Brutal. Crisp.

Summer is the time I gasp at the water bill. Looking at an aerial view through Google Maps, Winterpast is readily identified. It’s the only green yard in the subdivision. California green. Every square inch is planned, and tended. Well. Some people have fancy cars. Some travel. Some have walls of shoes. I have an oasis in the desert. With that being said, the water bill is still a little painful.

The things that love growing here are thick-skinned and thorny. Just once, I’d love to have a burst of color growing along the paths. Blooms of the most delicate types. Ferns, knee deep and lush. But, I need to be glad the roses are doing well this spring. That’s about the extent of my success with blooming plants. Low humidity, high heat, and poor soil don’t produce the best blooms.

A beautiful flower garden is a work of art. God must have been in an exceptionally cheery mood the day he thought them up. They must be his way of laughing. Last night, at a birthday party for a new girlfriend, I sat with a florist. Every day, she lives in the land of flowers as she creates beautiful floral arrangements for special occasions. Somehow the magic of flowers stays with her even when she isn’t at the shop. People need flowers. Flowers nourish our very souls.

The trees of Winterpast all have their own personalities. This year, my banyan-like apricot tree is struggling. She just can’t die. Not on my watch. Her long limbs are struggling to produce leaves, and at this point, I might need to call in an arborist. Ace mentioned that some limbs are too low to walk under. At 5’5″, they hang at just the right height for me. Perfect for picking a stray apricot on an early summer morning. Being the largest apricot tree I’ve ever seen, it’s obvious she’s struggling. It’s up to me to keep her alive.

Gardening requires planning, work, and upkeep. Plants need to be staked until they grow strong and tall, struggling through the forces of the desert heat and wind. Roses need to be fertilized and trimmed. Gravel needs to be replaced and bark replenished. The only sure thing is that the weeds continue to grow. Especially those with thorns like needles.

These days, Oliver is finding it nice to bask in the morning sun. He hasn’t eaten a plastic solar light in over a year now. The emitters hold no more fascination for him. He still protects the fence with his ferocious bark, even though it’s only the next door neighbor. To Oliver, it is some fantastical beast that could come eat us at any moment. Ollie finally likes his back yard as much as I do.

Gardening gives me time to attend to my own internal struggles. Thriving in the Nevada sunshine, I still need pruning, straightening, and correction on a daily basis. Weeding out negativity, I try to replant with optimism and forgiveness. Somedays, those wilt just like the Johnny Jump Up’s I planted last week. But, slowly, I’m making progress in improving myself one step at a time.

So, even if it’s only in a pot on the back porch, plant something. Gardens flourish with love and care, just like we do. Enjoy!!

More tomorrow.

Last night was a special one here at Winterpast. At 7:30 PM, my computer came to life with red, white, and blue gowns and a sea of smiling faces as my grandson graduated from high school. Life has a way of shocking us sometimes. The years go by, lulling Grandparents into a rhythm of normalcy. Game times and activities. Academic awards and summer fun. It does seem life an endless stream of childhood accomplishments, until your little grandson is 6′-to-the-sky with facial hair and a girlfriend.

I did miss the feel of graduation breezes on my face. My mom always talked about graduation weather. Raised in the country, typical graduations were outside on the football field. Spring evenings in the San Joaquin Valley of California were often unpredictably windy, wreaking havoc on long curls and mortarboards. Last night, the weather seemed perfect as I watched from the comfort of my home.

This high school graduation wasn’t what you’d expect in the worldly craziness we live in today. The young men, (for the most part), wore shirts and ties. Slacks and dress shoes. The young ladies looked like young ladies. No purple hair or studded faces. Heels and dresses. Fresh faces and lots of smiles. This class is going places.

There was no nonsense of childish interruptions. No offensive speech by the top Graduate. No throwing of hidden beach balls or messages written on the tops of mortal boards. Nope. This was a celebration of accomplishments. I must say, I was quite proud to be a part of the evening, even though six hours away.

The students in my grandson’s class have goals. The top students are off to top schools like UCLA, Pepperdine, or Brandeis University. They’ll go on to be doctors, lawyers, and scientists. There’s just something in the eyes of students like that. Serious. Appreciative of the gifts they’ve been given over the past 13 years of education. In this school district, they run a tight ship. Even after two years of distance learning through the lock down, these kids stayed the course. Perhaps there’s something to be said for staying home with mom and dad for two years of high school. It’s a thought, anyway.

The graduating class of 2022 was referred to as “2 Good 2 Be Forgotten”. From afar, I must admit, the staff must have been sorry to let them go. Classes have distinct personalities and traits branding them with a reputation. Some years, the staff celebrates for different reasons. Last night, parents should’ve been very proud as their children reached an important milestone in life.

My grandson will begin his college journey this summer. He’s been working full time his entire Senior year and plans to pursue his career in acting. He sings. He dances. He’s devastatingly charming, just like his Grandpa VST. Hard to believe that 50 years ago, his Grandpa was graduating from a country high school just a few miles west, looking forward to his own journey in life. We were friends then. I know. With a smile and a sigh, life goes on.

If you are a grandparent that can’t travel to a graduation, don’t forget to check out “You Tube”. It’s the next best thing to being there. You may find you have the best seat in the house, like I did. Remember to have your tissues at the ready.

Congratulations to The Class of 2022. Go forth and do great things.

More tomorrow.

Covid and the memory of being locked up like caged rats is no longer a reality here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. On our small town Memorial Day, along with remembering the heroes that served our country while paying the highest price for our freedom, we celebrated. Just plain old fun with all the bells and whistles.

In the last week, I’ve received more phone calls and invites than I thought possible. I did get my new crowns last week. Perhaps that’s why I feel like The Queen of Everything these days. Establishing even one friend in a new town isn’t the easiest thing to do, especially in a town that is just a wide spot along a dusty part of the interstate. But, slowly, my friendships are growing.

Last Thursday, with Zephyr winds howling, Ace and I attended a Thank-You BBQ given by my beloved Realtor and her husband. In the middle of 25 mph winds, they pulled off the entire event with a great band and wonderful food. Of course, this was held in “In-Town Park” (as opposed to Out-Of-Town Park which is out of town). While there, a friend from church and his two children joined us as we tried to keep our hamburger buns from flying away. Going to an event and actually meeting up with friends is a new and exciting experience after two years of isolation. Ignoring the crazy winds, we all had a wonderful time enjoying the music and great food.

Saturday, Ace and I went to place flags at the Northern Nevada Veteran’s Memorial Cemetery. The event started at 8:30 am. We arrived at 8:35 to find almost all the flags were already handed out to eager helpers like ourselves. Finding one last crate of flags, we took a bundle of ten and a carnation for each grave. In a matter of minutes, our part was done. By 9:30, every grave was dressed with a flower and flag.

Dogs always catch my eye, but any time I see a service dog with a vest that says “Guide Dog Puppy in Training — San Rafael, California” I must approach the handler. As a young country girl, I raised Guide Dog puppies while in 4-H. So when I spied the adult puppy raiser holding the leash of an adorable black lab, I had to go to her. We were friends at “Hello”. During our conversation, she mentioned the names of several 4-H-ers that had raised puppies with me in the 1900’s. Such happy memories came flooding back. We knew many of the same people, even though we’d never lived in the same town.

While I visited with her, Ace visited with her husband. It turned out he was born in the California town in which Ace lives now. Both being Veteran’s, they exchanged information about their duty stations. This man had served in the Coast Guard on the Jersey Shore near Ace’s childhood home. Small world.

Saying our Goodbyes, it was time to go to the polls for early voting. Again, waiting in line, friends were everywhere. I’ve finally lived here long enough to know who I know and run into them once in awhile. I never realized how lonely I was until now that I’m not that alone anymore.

New friends have been calling to visit. This week, I’ve been invited to a 75th birthday celebration for a wonderful new friend. People are returning to their natural state of friendly around here. It’s all new to me after my move here in April 2020 when the fear of Covid had us all cowering behind closed doors.

I hope your Memorial Day weekend was just as you wanted it. As the year flies by, remember something special about each day. Our world can heal if we do normal things again. Carry on with a smile.

More tomorrow.

Amazing grace, How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved.
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come,
‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

When we’ve been there ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun,
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we’ve first begun.

Please take time to remember the great men and women that gave the ultimate price for us. God bless them and those they left behind.

More tomorrow.

Play “Amazing Grace”

The world lost someone precious today. Not a movie star or well-known personality. To her students, she was Queen of their school year. She was their teacher. Her name was Eva. As I’ve said before, a lot is said through a person’s eyes. Here, I see kindness, compassion, and confidence. Yesterday, Eva showed something else. Ferocity. No, I was not there. But, Eva was a teacher. Teachers are fierce people when anything threatens their students. We’re just wired like that.

Yesterday, Eva and 19 of her students were stolen from this earth.

The news said Eva had been teaching for 17 years. She was in her prime. I remember my own classroom and the students that taught me so much over the years. On 9/11/2001, we comforted each other in Room 20. On so many regular days, we became heroes to each other. For one year out of their lives, they had an additional family member. Mrs. Hurt. As for me, I have hundreds of “extra” children that will be 3rd graders in my heart for the rest of my life, their memories frozen in games of jump rope or animal reports handwritten in the sweetest cursive.

To be a teacher is one of the most beautiful professions a person can choose. Over the years, you become identifiable as a teacher because, face it, sensible shoes are comfortable. Clothes that hide stains while being easy to move in are the way to go. Hair styles aren’t important because there are too many papers to grade and activities to plan. Tired eyes happen after nights sleep doesn’t come while trying to decide the best approach to a classroom problem. There are confidences to keep and accomplishments to cheer. But above all, there are children to protect. My last class was made of 27 5th graders, 9 going on 10, just like Eva’s kids.

Happy. Smelly. Intense. Sleepy. Funny. Inspirational. Bored. Confused. Hormonal. Tussled. Hopeful. Growing. Inquisitive. Pure. Purposeful. Open to new ideas. Thinking. Analytical. Life long learners. English-Second-Language. Entitled. Poor. Sniff-ly. Athletic. Clumsy. Kind. Respectful. Bundles of love.

All those adjectives described the 27 reasons I went to work every day at the crack of dawn.

Every day of my career, I told my students I loved them. Once in the morning, and once before they walked out the door. Guess what? They told me they loved me, too. Because, without love and respect between a student and teacher, something very special gets lost. I put on band aids and dried tears. I knew when they weren’t feeling well before they did, and the same care and affection was given to me. We shared important stuff like a special birthday song and homemade cupcakes brought by proud moms. They knew “the look”, and all secretly accepted the fact that teachers DO have eyes in the back of their heads.

Teachers – a special group of people that are on the front lines everyday. Students – a special group of people coming together to learn. Together – MAGIC.

No, I wasn’t there.

But. I know.

Eva died protecting her students.

The world lost something very, very special yesterday. A teacher and her students finishing a year they would never forget, while being ready to begin a summer ripe with possibilities. They will remain elementary students and their teacher in our hearts forever. Please send prayers to Uvalde.

Needing to regroup, I’ll be back on Monday.

Each one of us possesses unique and beautiful gifts needed to make it through life. This weekend, artists came together all over town to create magic on empty walls. At first, the Grumpy Old Woman in me was a little bent about “graffiti” adorning our shared spaces. After all, who wants “graffiti” littering our streets as we race around the town. Well, color me too stuffy and a lot wrong.

Just look at the water tower! Over a period of days, volunteers of all ages came to paint the most beautiful murals around town. By Sunday evening, the town had a new look. Desert winds sandblast the best of paints, leaving our Main Street buildings looking faded and tired. Having some new murals to brighten things up is a cheerful addition to our rather quiet wide space along the interstate.

An intriguing part of this activity was that no one really knew who would be doing the painting. It was decided the painting would happen this weekend trusting that the murals would be completed by strangers. Isn’t life a little like that? It isn’t all about who shows up with their talents and gifts? Not one person possesses every talent. In this project, there was the graphic design artist that had to make their murals fit to scale on the side of the buildings or the water tower. The color artists picked out the correct paint and made sure everything was ready on painting day. Those that were skilled in organization prepared all the supplies necessary to pull this off. The advertising people made sure to get the word out about this fantastic event. Musicians got their play lists ready for the weekend. Before you knew it, it was a one-of-a-kind, small town event.

In our own lives, we are gifted with what we need right where we are, right here and now in this very moment. For sure, we need each others. That’s a given.

Even in a place as barren as the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada we need to strive to thrive where we are. Life’s mural will slowly unfold if you only step back a little and allow it to do so. Each having our own assignments, if we work together the results will be stunning. I can’t do your thing and you can’t do mine, but together, we can achieve miracles.

If you have a knife, fork, and spoon, then that is what you need. But, if you’re missing one, don’t forget to ask a friend. They might just have an extra to lend you. No one else has what you have, the same way you have it. It’s okay to ask for help, but just don’t give up. We’ve all come too far to turn back now.

Watching the choir in church on Sunday, the lesson was evident. The guitarist might not have had the strongest voice, while the vocalist couldn’t begin to pluck out Mary Had a Little Lamb on the guitar. The drummer couldn’t play the hymn we were signing on the piano, but he kept us in time with the beat of his drums. It took each of them, along with the congregation, to make “I Come to the Garden Alone” ring in the rafters. Just like life, nobody has everything they need to handle everything alone.

I hope your town is lucky enough to have an event like the one we had this weekend. If they do, go pick up and brush and discover the artist in you!

More tomorrow.

Last week, a series of unfortunate events left me praying for girlfriends on Thursday morning. Having been raised in a family of five girls, I’m the one that isn’t the girly type. High drama and the silliness of fashion leave me cold. Shopping isn’t a hobby of mine. I really rather talk about guy stuff. And yes, at 66 years of age, there is a big difference between girl stuff and guy stuff. Anyone who says there isn’t hasn’t lived much.

Thursday morning, being alone with my Bible, I prayed for a source of new girlfriends. Face it, as a single woman, the minute you are seen having coffee with a man, gossip spreads like wildfire. Not wanting to be THAT woman, I would delight in having a group of girlfriends to do things with. A group that is supportive and kind. As I prayed, in the back of my head a negative voice was saying “Right. Where are you going to find this?”

Around 9:15, still being alone and a little blue, I went out to actively search for a new source of friends. Another church had always been of interest to me. Not far from Winterpast, the church in question was located by the golf course. They might offer Bible studies at times different from the ones I was already attending. It was worth a try, so off I went in my little Jeep.

Sadly, when I drove into the parking lot, I realized not every church is hub of activity. On Thursday morning at 9:45-ish, this church was zipped up tight. No welcoming office staff. No Pastor out cutting the grass or washing the widows. Nothing except an empty parking lot. As empty as my heart at that moment.

Where would I ever find friends that were worthy of trust and laughter? Interesting people of like mind. Although I have a lifetime left to find them, that lifetime is getting shorter every day. I’d already tried the woman’s political group. That wasn’t a source of anything except heartburn and angst. A small town is limited in options.

I made a decision to go to Lowe’s and hit the garden section. Nothing better than a good selection of flowers to brighten a day. The threat of frost has now passed for this growing season and good temperatures for planting are almost over. Needing tomato plants, I decided that it would brighten my mood. My search for friendship could continue on another day.

Driving towards the railroad tracks, something came over me, ultimately guiding my little Jeep in a different direction. I remembered that on my first Thanksgiving, I’d been buying food for the dinner I had planned with Miss Firecracker and myself. Being our first widowed Thanksgiving, we would find laughter someway, somehow. Leaving the store, stood a small group of people collecting food for less fortunate families. They were such a good group, I went back in the store and shopped for them.

Now, I had some direction. The time — 9:50-ish. I’d go there first and see if they had a list of the programs offered. I knew they’d have something.

The church sits on the opposite side of the tracks. With three main buildings, cars filled the parking lot. Signs of life made me feel better the minute I drove in. Although I didn’t see any people, I spotted a small wooden sign pointing the way to the office. I’d just pop in, hoping that door was unlocked.

Opening the door, I wasn’t prepared for the scene on the other side. While I was just hoping for a slip of paper listing times and dates of studies and prayer meetings, God answered my prayer with something far more wonderful. Inside that door, around 4 tables set up in a square sat 12 – 14 of the most beautiful smiling faces. Refreshments sat at the ready. Homemade carrot cake and other goodies, along with steaming coffee.

At an empty chair, front and center, sat before a piece of paper. In rather large font it said the following:

FRIEND

\frend\ noun

someone who gives you freedom to be yourself;

one of the nicest things you can have;

the best thing you can be.

“Hi!!! You’re just in time for Bible study. Please stay!” said the cheery woman on the other side of the room. The time — 10:00. I had driven to this Bible study and arrived at exactly the right time on exactly the right day. There are no accidents in this life.

These women were similar in age to me. By 11:30, I felt as if I had known this group for a very long time. It’s all in the eyes and smiles. One woman brought me the study materials. Someone handed me a pen. Another made sure I had a copy of words to the songs we would sing at the beginning of the meeting. Yet another asked me to tell the group a little about myself. Just like that, God sent me to a safe place full of tender, caring people. A group of friends I hadn’t met yet, until right then.

Now included in their text chains, let the fun begin. Last night, a phone call turned into an hour of getting to know someone new. The most special woman who started the Bible study just months ago. A woman who is amazed at the speed in which it’s growing, one woman at a time. I’m so glad, I was last week’s new woman.

My Thursdays are booked for awhile. This group hits the Senior Center for lunch after class. I’m invited to a birthday party in June. Just like that.

When you need something, ask in prayer. Listen for the answer. Because, answers will come. Remember, there are no accidents in life.

More tomorrow.

Due to technical difficulties, I will be back on Monday. Sometimes, the computer world is a little too complicated for one country girl. Enjoy the rest of your week.

When in the world did we all get too busy to show a little kindness? Let a person go ahead in line? Smile at a stranger? Helping a neighbor? The world is speeding at warp speed. The grouchy waitress might have been up all night with a cranky baby. The distracted sales clerk may have just lost their beloved pet. Unless the world starts connecting, things will only get worse. The greatest thing is that kindness is free. The simplest act can make someone’s day so much better. It just takes a little awareness and effort on our part.

Try it today. Just pick one person. Be kind. See what happens.

Is anybody happier

Because you passed their way?

Does anyone remember

That you spoke to them today?

This day is almost over

And it’s toiling time is through;

Is there anyone thinking about

A friendly word from you?

Can you say tonight in passing

With the days that slipped so fast

That you helped a single person,

Of the many that you passed?

Is a single heart rejoicing

Over what you did or said

Does one whose hopes were fading

Now with courage look ahead?

Did you waste the day, or lose it?

Was it well or poorly spent?

Did you leave a trail of kindness

Or a scar of discontent?

Kindness is a simple thing

Free and ever present.

Spread it all throughout your days

With joy, go forth. Be Pleasant.

_{Borrowed from God’s Little Devotional Journal for Women}

Have a wonderful day today. Go forth and spread some kindness.

More tomorrow.