March 24, 2024
Last week in Richmond, Virginia we reached the point in the year when it is typically okay to plant potatoes, cruciferous vegetables, and other cool weather crops like lettuce. For many years, I have planted lettuce and kale in my tiny garden on the south side of our house right after St. Patrick’s Day. My garden is in a consistently sunny, warm, protected area thanks to the red brick wall of our house, and I have had great success with lettuce especially if I plant it in mid-March. One of my all-time favorite Spring rituals is gathering the red, purple and green leaves of my home-grown lettuce to make a salad for my family, moments before the meal is served.
So, last Sunday when I went with Nick to buy mulch for our front yard, I couldn’t resist picking up a few seedlings, despite the forecast of frost for the middle of the week. We weeded and mulched the front yard, as planned, and Nick went back to the store to buy more mulch when we realized we never put any down in the fall and the flower beds were in bad shape. A lot of things were forgotten last Fall after our eldest son died unexpectedly. I never put my vegetable garden to bed at the end of the season, we didn’t plant grass or bulbs, the touch up painting we intended to do on our shutters never happened, we didn’t clean the windows or decorate the way we used to for the holidays. In truth, we have been in survival mode since July and the house and yard just didn’t seem very important.
As I walked past my unruly vegetable garden, I couldn’t believe how overgrown I had let it get. The weeds were over a foot tall in some places and I couldn’t even find the rosemary, lemon grass and parsley that should have wintered over well. The mint had started to run into the grass and the strawberries appeared to have all died out. I did not have much energy to weed at that point in the day, so I half heartedly began pulling until I located the carrots and sorrel. “At least something survived my neglect,” I thought, as I decided to call it a day.
Later in the week, I had a doctor’s appointment, and got home an hour or two before I normally would on a bright, warm afternoon. I started to tackle the knee-high weeds with my bare hands and before I knew it, I had a huge pile of detritus that filled a third of our super can. My mind drifted to memories of a favorite childhood book, The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. My mother read that story aloud to me as a girl and I loved hearing how the little orphan girl, Mary, discovered the neglected, walled garden, and like me weeded and dug with her hands until she found bulbs and perennials buried beneath the weeds. Eventually, Mary asked the gardener for tools to loosen the soil and prune the vines. In the story, the sickly little girl grew stronger as she worked each day to make the garden nicer. Later she invites her cousin, Colin, to join her in the garden where they both garden and become happier as they find a purpose in their efforts to improve the secret garden.
Like Mary and Collin, I have struggled to find my purpose in my intense grief. Like them, I eventually started to use tools to tend my garden more efficiently and today I went back to turn over the soil and prepare it for the seedlings. Beneath the weeds, I found strawberry plants that had spread by runners to the other end of the garden. I replanted them in their proper patch. The carrots were never thinned like they should have been, but they survived despite my neglect. I harvested a bunch of them, and Nick, Andrew and I will eat them as part of our dinner tonight. I even located and trimmed the rosemary, mint, lemon balm, sorrel, and parsley. In a few weeks, I will buy some basil, dill, and other annual herbs to fill in the gaps. Tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers will replace the lettuce once it gets hot. My garden will return to productivity once I give it the care it deserves.
Nothing will ever fill the chasm in my life created by Alex’s death, but I do think that my gardening efforts and touching the soil regularly helps me to reconnect with my roots. One day, I will find a direction and hopefully a way to help others in his memory. In the meantime, I can look forward to tasty salads and fresh herbs that will be available in the months to come.
Mindful Musings 