Maintenance

Almost every day I spend about thirty minutes walking slowly around my very small garden, checking the pots for moisture, doing the endless deadheading, picking beetles off the rose bush. I snip here, pinch there, sweep the fallen blooms from the deck and brush them under the hosta (composting in a very small way). It's kind of like tidying up the living room.

When I was a young girl, I spent many wonderful overnights with my grandmother. We would stay up late watching old movies, have a snack, talk about all kinds of things. My grandfather and 2 great-grandmothers (who lived there, too) were all in bed. It was just Grandma and me, together on the green sofa, snuggled together. Sometimes I laid my head on her lap and she stroked my hair. When we both started yawning and it was time to go to bed, she would bustle around, picking up Grandpa's newspapers lying by the red leather chair, fluff the sofa pillows, take the snack remains to the kitchen, straighten the magazines on the coffee table. Everything went back into its place, ready for company. "Carol Lee", she would say, "always remember to 'red-up' the living room before you go to bed. Then you'll be ready to start a new day." I think she meant I would be renewed as well.

There is something peaceful about order in the garden. When I have finished my morning maintenance, I sit for a moment on the deck, surveying my outdoor space. It gives me great joy to take in all the colors and textures and smells of growing things. If the cardinal or goldfinch come to perch while I am sitting there, it is a double blessing. The day can begin. I am renewed.