Where the Secrets are Buried
I walked out to the garden beneath the viciously withered branches of a bougainvillea that has once been beautiful but now looked almost ominous. I’m careful to watch where I step, so thorns from the lifeless limbs that have dropped into my path, are waiting to pierce my feet. Winter was hard in our garden. Florida isn’t supposed to have cold winters. But here we had historic, severe cold weather for days on end. Not much survived.
For decades, our backyard had been a sort of botanical oasis with shade of beautiful bougainvillea blooms. During storm season, tree limbs tore through the patio screens, leaving limp sections of mesh just hanging. Fence panels had fallen off and sections of the fence had lost their will to stay upright. Combined with the winter freezes, our little sanctuary looked barren, desolate and abandoned.
When I looked at my backyard, I couldn’t help feeling sad and that its best days were behind us. Midlife can feel a lot like that, especially for mothers. We plant seeds of goodness into our children. We nurture them with love. We tend to their lives with prayer. We spend years pulling weeds, protecting tender shoots, guiding and helping them grow toward the Light. All of this effort is spent, with the end result of having them leave home, because culture tells us that launching our kids into the world is the mark of success. And that launching part is super great. I love watching my kids soar. But, my life, my days, my value as a mother felt like the backyard.
As spring arrived, it offered an opportunity to reimagine new possibilities. “Out with the old” was our motto. We got rid of the broken down fence, and had a new one installed. We had old, dead plants removed to make way for new life, new growth. We got the patio restored to better than new. We put sod in. All it took was a whole lot of effort and a bit of extra income. But it all started with a decision to admit that the backyard had become desolate, empty and barren. We made a decision to excavate the old and start reimagining this space for us to enjoy, as empty nesters and maybe even as grandparents one day.
The first space we started was a six foot section planter that we built by hand nearly 30 years ago. Some of the bricks on the paver wall are sagging, must like us, but are still usable and have a lot of life left in them. We pulled out the old roots, rocks and debris and dumped nutrient rich potting soil in the planter. We planted a lemon tree, tomatoes, peppers, blueberries, lavender, and mint. Hanging from a tree with branches that outstretched this planter, we hung baskets of basil and rosemary.
Somewhere between replacing a fence, hauling out dead branches and planting a garden, I realized it’s not just about landscaping at all. It was about healing. About creating a space to grow again after seasons of loss, change, disappointment and uncertainty. A place where getting your hands dirty is somehow cleansing for your soul.
Gardens have a way of revealing the things we’ve buried. And sometimes if we did deep enough, we’ll find ourselves again.
I will restore to you the years that the locusts have eaten.
Joel 2:25
