It was bittersweet to pull my edger out of the shed today. I inherited it from Chris’ grandmother a few years back, and she died last week.
Every time I picked up that edger, I’d say, in an exaggerated German accent, “VVan-daa” because Oma had labeled it with her name to ensure its return from the neighbors, and I couldn’t help but think of her as I used it. Today it meant even more, knowing her life here was over, that I’d never eat plums off her tree again, or have zone envy when her magnolia bloomed. But through this tool, I feel like she will stay with us, continue to give somehow.
My grandfather has always had a presence in my garden too. I spent many summer hours of my childhood alongside him in his patch of dirt, weeding, nibbling chives, eating carrots right out of the ground. He taught me respect for the earth, the pleasure of work. I imagine him now looking over my shoulder, enjoying and encouraging things. I still use many of his tools, too, and plant things the way he did. The peonies and the tomatoes and the cabbage all remind me of him.
The more I think about it, the more people come to mind that have a place in my garden. There’s Rob and Margo, who laid the groundwork for the land I work today. There’s Phaedra, who gave me Chinese lanterns. There’s Patsy, who gave me lilies and irises. There’s Heinz and Lisa, who inspired me with fresh greens (and morels and fiddleheads too). There’s Ralph and Brenda, who tackled the weeds with me. There’s our neighbor Bob who kept our lawn mowed when Chris was sick. There’s my sister Jenni who designed the new flower beds and built me stone steps. There’s Jay, who inspired a couple of new planters this year (I’ll show you when I get them planted up). There’s my brother Ben, who has been the muscle on more than one occasion.
I could keep going. Yup, I’m working alone right now, with just the two little girls playing in the grass. But it sure doesn’t feel like it.
My garden is pretty crowded.
Who’s hanging out with you?