A Bit of Brilliance in the Gray
It was a gray morning. It matched my mood. Despite some wonderfully magnificent autumn days, I had found myself preoccupied with an abundance of negative thoughts. Some related to my own health issues as well as those facing family members and good friends, some related to sharing in the grief brought on by losses experienced by others close to me, and even some related to the upcoming election and the future of my country.
It was the kind of day easily spent inside avoiding the rest of the world. But the garden needed attention. And I was running out of time.
As I stepped out into the cool, damp air, my thoughts turned to a conversation I had recently with a friend. We discussed how, maybe as a collateral consequence of our ages (both over 50), our lives seemed to be visited more frequently by sadness. The deterioration and deaths of friends and family members. The loss (both the expected and sudden kind) of beloved pets (who never live long enough). The sheer magnitude of bad national and international news conveyed by media that seemed relentless. As I surveyed my garden, I seemed only to be able to focus on weaknesses in its structure. Too many goldenrod plants that had outgrown their space. Phlox everywhere, sprouting up like weeds. Everything was cramped, and with all the rain, many of the plants were ravaged by fungus and mold.
As I moved through the beds with my shovel and hand rake, I became astonished at how, once again, the creeping Charlie and other weeds appeared to have taken over. At first, it felt overwhelming – like I would never get it under control – like it would choke out all my precious perennials. I almost wanted to give up before I started.
But then I decided I needed to focus on my garden of the future. I recalled how it had come such a long way in the last couple of years after being almost completely devastated by the harsh summer of 2013. It actually exploded this summer and brought me several good weeks of spectacular color. Going forward, it just needed a bit more attention, so that in the spring, it could rejuvenate itself with vigor.
So I started in the first bed, slowly going through and pulling weeds. To my relief, they came out easily, aided by all the rain we had gotten that left the soil damp and pliable. The further I went along, the more manageable it all became.
And then I happened to look up at the barberry bush. In the damp, gray air, its brilliant red color was absolutely stunning.
In that moment, my soul was refurbished just a little bit. I recognized that I could not ever completely eradicate all the weeds in my little gardens. But if I was vigilant, and kept them at bay, the beauty of my flowers and all of my desired plantings could thrive and provide me with joy in the seasons to come.
I have found that gardening is excellent therapy. I want to apply these concepts to the rest of my life. Right now it feels like the weeds of sadness and negativity could very well take over. I can't recall a time when I have felt quite as worried as I do now. But I cannot let those feelings invade the space where my joy, optimism and gratitude are planted. I will acknowledge such feelings, but then will strive to purposefully weed them out to a point where their harmful effects are limited. And then I will seek out those things that nurture and rejuvenate my joy, optimism and gratitude.
Nature is the perfect example of rejuvenation after trauma. Nature shows us resilience.
I will choose to be resilient.