Settled back into the routine here at Winterpast, I can tell you a few things. I’m not a chicken or duck person. I don’t understand them very well, and will continue to buy eggs at the store. I’m not a cat person, either. That’s good, because they don’t much like me. After staying in a house with three of them for five days and nights and only saw one, although the food certainly disappeared in the night.
I’m a true-blue dog person. Having just cared for thirteen dogs of various ages and sizes, that’s been established. I’m now a fan of hypoallergenic dogs of the doodle variety. It’s true that they shed almost nothing at all. Such a difference from those that do, like Goldens or German Shepherds. I was thankful for the lack of hair as I mopped the house twice a day while in California. Such is life with puppies underfoot. A lot of mopping.
Life pushed me to become the woman I am today and I’m at peace with the new me.
When I became a widow in 2020, I benefited from the fog made of my grief. Thank goodness I could only focus on the moment at hand. There were boxes to move to storage. Later, boxes to retrieve and unpack. My seventeenth day alone, I moved one hour away to a sweet little town on the desert plains of northwestern Nevada. I moved into a new home in a new town where I knew two people. That August one of them died.
I began driving after not having been behind the wheel for a full six years. This happened for no reason other than my late husband loved to drive everywhere and I didn’t. When he was gone it was up to me to take the wheel and carry on.
I began caring for 1/2 acre of land with the trusty help of a gardener named Mr. B. During the dark days of Covid, I dined out several times a week and occasionally drove myself to the biggest little city to the west to stay in hotels for a change of scenery. Both actions were scandalous, with everyone sure that I’d die from a silly virus. But, I didn’t.
I refused to give up or give in. Sun, fresh air, and garden soil kept me safe from viral infections. I slept way to much and didn’t eat near enough. I caught up on movies while consuming vast amounts of macaroni and cheese, tacos, and ice cream (three amazing food groups).
Shouldn’t were replaced with Maybe’s, Why-Not’s?, and Heck, Yes’s. Slowly, my life began to change for the better.
September 24, 2020, I decided to write a blog. Creating Grievinggardener.com on the computer in an afternoon, I started writing and haven’t stopped since. In the beginning, I was up at 4:00 am every morning to start the day with words. My words kept me alive. I hoped at least one person in the universe would read them. It didn’t matter who, knowing if I could help one other woman get out of bed to read something I wrote, it was worth it.
Through every day, I’ve gardened in one way or another. I developed my own therapies to deal with my unique and personal tragedy when all the grief-groups were closed down. I found a church and began to pray. I found God, and began a relationship. I fell into the loving arms of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, and gave my life to him, finally baptized at 66 years old.
I’ve lived through desert’s worst winters and bought my very own Snow Joe to help me deal with the drifts. Loving every short day of winter, I cocooned inside with my little dog, Oliver. At times I didn’t shovel snow and dealt with ice. Throughout those days, I slipped. I slid. But, again, I’d find my balance and keep going.
In 2022, I became restless and went back to college for a summer. I applied for a teaching job and was hired, went to work, cried every night, and quit after a few months. Sometimes, you just need to reset your course when the headwinds are too strong.
That year, I also met HHH and fell head-over-heels in love with this man. This wonderful man loves gardening as much as I do. He’s man’s-man that still tears up at a sweet story on the news. This man now co-navigates life with me. This man I call my husband and best friend in life.
Together, we’ve built a greenhouse. We’ve grown a house full of seedlings and then turned them into plants blooming in our yard. We’ve experienced the beauty of Yellowstone for the first time in our lives as honeymooners. We’ve cruised the high seas and crossed back and forth over Donner Pass many times.
Together, we’ve whelped and help raise two liters of wooklets, which were born in the middle of our bed in both 2023 and 2024. Neither of us would have had that any other way, loving these 13 little pups while they were in our care.
My reason for highlighting the really great stuff going on is simple. I was a lost and lonely widow in 2020. Five summers later, I’m getting ready to spend the 4th of July with family I love while watching a parade down Main Street and greased pig contest. To go from knowing no one to knowing hundreds of people in my little town is a miracle about which I marvel every day.
Was it hard? Almost impossible. What it lonely? Beyond what anyone should need to endure. Were there setbacks? Every day. Was I on a journey without directions? You betcha.
The truth of the matter is, I didn’t take the journey alone. God get’s the glory on this one, as he carried me for many, many miles. As the days went by, I changed into this woman I really and truly like and respect. A woman that has charted her own course. How blessed am I to have found a new life in the midst of such sorrow.
Whatever you do today, remember that the sun will shine again tomorrow. No matter how dark, get up, get dressed, and get going. Life is what you make it!! Get started!!
