by Kimberley Thompson, Tastemaker in Residence

Gardens were a popular pastime last year; once we all realized that Covid 19 was going to be "hanging" around a while! People went back to their gardens, whether in the back yard, front yard, balcony or rooftops! Or started for the first time...ah, the excitement of visualizing your first harvest!

Gardening was something we could do alone (think social isolation), with our families (anything to keep the kids occupied for a minute or two!), or as a neighborhood benefactor (if you were lucky to have a BIG garden or be part of community gardens) who shared the fresh produce with those who had limited access to the outside world.

I had just moved back into my own home after living with Mom for 8 1/2 years, and had badly (and sadly) neglected gardens. Frankly, they were beyond survival of the fittest...only the bullies and the invasive thrived. The lock down had just started and my yard was my only "outside" place.

The gardens were daunting. I kept thinking that I physically wasn't up to the challenge. I trotted out any excuse ...home too late, washing to do, boxes to unpack, coffee to drink, books to read, artificial hips, etc. Then, it hit me what my problem was regarding my neglected gardens.

Memories. Loss. Sorrow.

It was in the gardens that I felt the loss and anger at my Mom's dementia and my Father's death. It was in the turning of the soil, and the pulling of the weeds that my mind opened to the memories of what was, and the keen loss of the days of before. Before cancer, before death, before broken hips and shattered minds...before. The growth, and death, of the plants I had carefully selected in years prior reminded me that the rest of the world kept moving while I was caught in the warp of lives on hold.

I felt the loss, too, of the plants I left behind in my Mom's gardens. The 7 foot tall Mock Orange with the incredibly fragrant blossoms, the perky johnny-jump-ups, and ferns. I feel guilty that I didn't take more of the plants with me. (I managed to get the rhubarb and the tiger lilies.) I felt like I was letting my Mom down. I drive by her old house and advert my eyes so I do not see that the new owners have pulled out her Asiatic lilies, the rhododendron and day lilies.

Gardening was my 2020 "damned if you do, damned if you don't," Covid mind set. So, since it was the only thing I could do; I forced myself to jump into the water!

I started the renovations by installing and planting 3 new gardens: one for tomatoes and peppers, one in all orange shades and one for anything blooming in purple colors. I thought of how my Mom always liked it when I planted her all purple pots for her back deck. I could hear my Dad remarking how "tasty" real tomatoes were, and that a man held wealth in his hands if he could grow vegetables. I heard Mom's strong, pre-dementia voice in my head telling me to twice dig the dahlias to get good, strong plants.

I thought about my Grandmother and all the time I spent in her gardens. I weeded, dug, and picked while listening to Grandma and Mom talk about what was going on at the farm. (I also ran errands for them that took FAR longer than they should have!) When my hands were deep in the dirt, I remember shelling peas fresh from the garden on her back porch.

My memories gradually became ones of joy sought out in the sweet earth bed, of happy times recalled by handfuls of dirt and sprinkling of seeds.

My siblings, especially my brother, rallied around me when I decided to take on my neglected gardens. They spaded, sprayed, dug and pulled all with masks and at proper social distances. My brother was a powerhouse with his chain saw, and then even bought me a fire pit so I could burn the wood he stacked. My sister and her husband dumped out pots of old dirt and desiccated plants, and refilled them with fresh soil for me to slip a plant (or 5!) into the the container. They hacked out 10 years old weed trees that usurped my garden beds.

The new gardens have grown into 5 new ones; the older gardens are coming back. The dahlias are planted and the wild flowers sown. There is a purple garden and one for the bees. I have my orange bloomers up against a jade green iron fence.

Pictures of gardens are lovely...but nothing is like getting your hands dirty to stir the memories in your mind. I had to get through the grief (and still will need more time) in order to see the potential of my gardens going forward.

What was it Soren Kierkegard said? "Life can only be understood backwards, but it MUST be lived forwards."