MY VIEW
Pam Henel: Mom’s love of garden finally takes root
If ever I were to write a gardening book, its title would be “Lazy Person’s Guide To Gardening.” I don’t like dirt, I really don’t like worms, and the less time I spend with them, the better. Tend a garden? My time may be spent better elsewhere. Or, so I thought until today.
Although we live in an age of modern timesaving conveniences, such as rototillers, gardening remains a labor of love. This afternoon as I laboriously turned over the earth in my small garden, I felt that love, handed down through generations.
Pushing the spade into the earth, overturning each piece, chopping the weeds out, saving as much of the soil as possible, I was reminded of doing this as a childhood chore. Poor mom, it must have been like pulling weeds, or teeth, for her to get me to garden! I know I was a stubborn child!
Bless her for her perseverance, because I remember the border of our small backyard garden in Kenmore like it was yesterday! Whether I faced east or west I had to look at the neat paved driveways of our neighbors, every house having a basketball net. Oh, how I would rather have been shooting hoops, or playing tennis or swimming.
I cut worms in half accidentally —yuk! And the bugs! I hated them all. But gardening gave me time to meditate on everything I was looking at. A vivid picture was planted in my mind of my childhood and my mother, a nice mother who needed my help. I was the one with the problem. I hated bugs and I had friends to spend time with. I hated the dirty old garden! Why me?
I never realized at the time that my work was rewarded by the neat looking border I made as I spaded around all the edges — no plastic edging for our garden! And by how the plants thrived. But most of all, and unknown to me at the time, I surely made my mother happy. Ultimately, I am the one who received the best reward.
My little garden is not in Kenmore, but next to my tiny cottage at the beach, one of my mother’s favorite places. I now garden a few doors away from where we spent summers as children.
As I worked, I felt a satisfying slight twinge in my back, shoveling, picking out the grass and weeds and tilling around the few perennials surviving my careless tending from last year. I had time to meditate on my childhood experience performing this chore. Of course while thus distracted, I accidentally cut a big fat earthworm in half! Smarter now, I know he will be able to grow back but I still don’t like it.
How I resisted digging in the garden! But after the spring garden chores were taken care of Mom made sure we spent the summer in this wondrous place. Who could ask for more? Now I, too, love this piece of ground I am privileged to reside on and find satisfaction in tending it.
As I feel the breeze on my skin today, with the sun in my eyes, smell of soil and lake in my nostrils, I thank her for her perseverance and love — way too belatedly for her to hear. But I thank her, and hope to pass these lessons on to a generation after me. My children may someday appreciate the things I have taught them, after I am gone.
It is a labor of love to tend a garden, or a child. It requires time, thought, and diligence. It especially requires patience, waiting and watching as your plants or children grow. Truly a labor of love, but the rewards are bountiful, and bring joy to your soul.
I planted a lilac bush for you today, Mom, and for generations to come. May they tend it well.
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