Fading Glory
The fading glory of the autumn flowers
is evidence of end of summer hours.
The sun's heat wanes; September days grow chill -
yet of my garden I've not had my fill.
In spite of tattered leaves and blossoms bleached,
and pinnacles of beauty still not reached -
the barren stalks hold mem'ry of what's done -
of rampant blooms beneath an August sun
and promise of fresh growth when spring's begun.
I turn from fading blossoms with a sigh,
but know they'll bloom afresh - though by and by
Too soon they'll wear a blanket cold and white,
and when it melts they once more will delight.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, (From the unfinished files - completed May 2016)
This has been a season of beginnings and endings for me, and as usual my experience within my garden has perfectly symbolized the bigger picture of my life of late.
Spring started with the usual gardening chores, but this time I trimmed the plantings in my old garden with a slightly more melancholy air, suspecting (and rightfully so) that it would be my last time doing those chores in that particular garden. As I cut back the old growth and raked out my garden beds I wondered who would be doing those care taking tasks next spring. I fretted that maybe the new owner wouldn't love my garden as much as I did. I hoped that it would remain intact, but without knowing that it would I went about my usual routines. It's important to do your best to leave every place a little nicer than you found it. Besides, I knew I had no control over what happened in my garden later, but I sure as heck was going to take care of it while I could!
Our home sold in July, and we closed at both ends in mid-August. It was a crazily busy three week turnaround, but three days before we moved out I took a break from the seemingly endless chore of packing boxes to spend a final hour or two pulling weeds in my garden. It was important to me to leave it in good shape, even if it was something the new owner decided to uproot.
And, as it turns out, she planned to do just that.
It was hard for me to cede control of my garden, and following some gut instinct I'd left a note for the new owners, asking them to please contact me if they ever decided to remove a section of the plantings we'd put in. I knew they were under no obligation to contact me whatever their intentions were, but I hoped that even if they didn't appreciate the beautiful garden we'd put in, they'd at least recognize that it mattered to me. A week after we'd moved into our new home we received an email - the one that confirmed that what matters to one person doesn't matter to another.
Ironically, the new owner is a gardener too, but she wanted to pull up all of the flowerbeds around my flagstone circle and put in a greenhouse and vegetables. Vegetables!! I understand that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" (and it really is), but to have all of my gorgeous garden beds ripped out and leveled for something as prosaic as vegetables is something I will never quite be able to wrap my head around. Nevertheless, I will give her credit for recognizing that those flowers, the ones her pragmatic soul probably saw as a decadent waste of time, mattered to me.
I could argue for hours about the value of food versus flowers in a first world nation. In the end, who is to definitively assess whether it's more important to grow sustenance for the belly or the soul? It's a moot argument anyway, because my house - and my garden - ceased to be mine the moment the keys changed hands. She could do what she wished with both. And she was, at least, kind enough to honour my request for the unwanted plants.
So I said good-bye to my old house once, and my old garden twice. The second good-bye should've been worse, because it was a sad looking mess when we'd dug out a truckload of plants, but really it wasn't so hard. Something had shifted in my thought process - the garden wasn't mine anymore - but the plants I had re-acquired were. I already had garden beds cleared for them at my new/old house. They'll never be anything like the extravagant show-stopping berths that I had loved in my old yard, but they'll be homey perennial beds that suit their location in the yard of a big old Victorian house in a little Ontario town.
Thus one ending played a part in a whole new beginning. Isn't that just the way life tends to go sometimes? I've learned that we don't always have a lot of control over the way things end, but that we almost always have some say in what happens next. I've seen several chapters of my life draw to a close over the last few years. I've gone through menopause. My children have grown up. My interests have changed. My beliefs have changed in a lot of different ways. Now I've moved - again. I'm okay with all of it. Change isn't as frightening as it used to be, and every ending ushers in a new beginning.
Today I planted bulbs in fresh (and refreshed) garden beds, and then spread a mountain of mulch over all the old plants, the re-planted plants, and the anticipated spring blooms that will (hopefully) emerge from those bulbs I buried. I transplanted some snap dragons from a container into the garden, and as I did I noted that a few of them are blooming again. Likewise, a patch of crocuses has suddenly appeared in full bloom beside my lily bed! Six days before the end of summer - and as I cover my new bulbs and tutt-tutt over my rudely hacked-down-so-that-they-could-be-transplanted lilies and cone flowers, I get to enjoy a few bonus spring blooms!
This year, as I watch the flowers wane and the leaves turn colour in my new town, I'll be thinking ahead to seasons yet to come. I'll be thinking about which bay window to put my Christmas tree in, and how to dress up my new/old house for the holidays. I'll be thinking about delivering Christmas cookies to a whole new batch of friends and neighbours, and maybe doing some entertaining in this grand new setting.
And as long winter days set in, I'll be thinking ahead to my tulips and narcissus and eagerly waiting to see them poke through the chilly ground. I'll be looking forward to my old/new plants growing back full and lush in their new location. I'll be making plans for new plantings and further rejuvenating the gardens that surround this old Victorian lady.
My new life here is all about restoring what's been lost, torn out or neglected in this fine old building. Endings and beginnings all seem to converge at this place. In bringing this house back to life, I suspect I'll find a new way of living too. Something has reawakened for me here - not unlike a garden in spring. Somehow I feel like those bulbs I put in this morning - I'm just waiting to blossom.
It is a happy thought.
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