I thought for a moment “What purpose is there in planting anything new this year in my garden?”
This is, as you may know, my last year here.
To add to it might bring me pleasure if I am here to see it come to fullness.
But there is a chance I might never see it grow.
In saying that I answered my own question.
One who plants a garden does not do it for their own pleasure. They do it to make their little corner of the world more beautiful. Imagine then if everyone planted. The world as a whole would be more beautiful, bearable and perhaps closer to Eden.
One who plants a garden provides for the birds, bees and yes, even for those creatures who thrive on consuming one’s labor of love.
A “friend I’ve never met” sent me a gift of $25 the other day with one purpose in mind. In her card she said “take this money and buy some seeds for your garden.”
Her gift and my message about having to sell my house, crossed in time and space without her knowing.
She emailed me later to express concern.
“I will still plant flowers, with the gift you sent,” I told her.
“It will take time to sell my heart and soul and I will not leave my garden unattended.”
It’s calling my name already almost sensing with deep concern that something is wrong.
Yes, my garden speaks to me. Oh, not in words such as the words I use to tell you my stories.
I hear it growing. I hear the sigh and the breathless moans of the lillies pushing through the soil. I hear the muted sound of the lilacs as they open ever so slowly.
As the sun kissed earth gives way to the daffodils, I hear the wind slip between each stem. The crocus whispers first, “Look at me while you have the chance. I don’t stay long. The tulips send their best to you and they are coming, too.”
One who plants a garden and leaves it behind trusts that long after he or she is gone the new tenders of the flowers will appreciate the efforts and of course make it their own.
So, yes, I must plant, I must sow the seeds of possibility.
Who knows? Gardeners are hopeful dreamers who not only believe in miracles they nurture them.
Perhaps the Great Gardener, the “Keeper of the Seeds,” still has a plan for me to stay here.
If not, dear God, please if you can, give me one more Summer, too, before I go.