Daughters, Mothers, and Gardens

A dilapidated greenhouse sat in the backyard of our new home for more than a year before we decided to make it purposeful again. At first, we used it as storage. As a self-described black thumb, I never entertained the idea that I could grow something in there. We were setting up house afterall. That’s no easy feat. And, having given away nearly all of our memory-clad furnishings so we could start fresh together, my new husband and I were basically starting from scratch. Zero out of five stars. Do not recommend. Unless, of course, you have unlimited time and money. Then do it. For sure.

I’m not certain how it all started. I think one day I decided to move my fledgling windowsill herb garden to the greenhouse. I cleared out a little space and hoped for the best. The hubs noticed me out there more and more frequently. Harvesting herbs for dinner. Talking to the herbs. “You’re a big dill!” “Don’t listen to the haters, cilantro.” So silly. But he likes when I’m silly. The stress of all our life changes made us crave simple pleasures. We needed more silly. We needed more joy.

Over time, he made a bit more room in the greenhouse for me. He repaired the siding and the roof. He built shelves. He encouraged trips to the garden center. A year on, we have a full irrigation system. A cooling system. Various kinds of pots and soil. And actual plants. A bunch of them. Sure, in the past 12 months I’ve only harvested a few tiny tomatoes, one brutally sour strawberry, and several handfuls of herbs. Let’s just say, the ROI on this venture is waaaaaaaaayyyy upside down. But the greenhouse is a haven I look forward to visiting every early morning and late afternoon. Spending time with the plants bookends my work days. It’s a hobby I never imagined having and one that’s quickly becoming a passion.

My garden is by no means impressive. But it’s fulfilling and personal. It’s incredibly grounding to commune with God in creating and growing something. For this empty nester, it’s one of the few things that feeds my need to nurture. I know God can do it all by Himself. But He lets me be part of the process of growing hollyhocks from seed, and creating a towering and fruitful tomato plant from a 3-inch starter. The peace my gardening brings is so palpable that my hubs has spent countless hours and dollars enabling my plant habit. I hardly recognize us as we talk about soil, how the basil is doing, and when the sunflowers will bloom. For context, we do this while sitting on the patio watching “our” hummingbirds drink from custom feeders. Who the hell are we now? I don’t even know. But this slow and gentle glide from middle age to our golden years seems perfect.

I was feeling pretty good about my garden. I even developed enough confidence in my skills to go from one indoor house plant to two. But that all changed when I saw what my neighbor has created. Oasis doesn’t even come close to describing it.

One of my favorite things is to ride my bike to “The Dancing Queens Garden and Farm Stand” on a beautiful Saturday morning. The baked goods are so delicious, you practically need a moment of silence to properly enjoy them. When the vegetable harvest overflows, there’s fresh produce for sale as well. And there’s also a slew of delightful items from local artists. It’s lovely. But the best part is what’s behind the garden gate.

On a recent weekend, the owner asked if I’d like a tour of her garden. I don’t think I even waited for her to lead me to the backyard. I beelined. And it took my breath away. The greenhouse adorned with a chandelier and ethereal drapery. The rows and rows of planters full of lush and thriving herbs, vegetables, and flowers. The archway with clinging vines. The trees. Ahhh, the trees! I’m a desert native. This was so outside of anything I’d ever imagined a backyard could be. I mean, if I could shrink myself and take up residence in her basil and lavender plot, I would in a heartbeat. It felt like heaven on earth. I’m not even exaggerating.

The garden goddess asked if I had read her story on Facebook. I hadn’t. As a collector of stories, I encouraged her to tell me more. She shared that her husband helped her build the garden after her adult daughter died from alcohol abuse a few years ago. Her daughter’s favorite musical artist was Abba. Favorite song was Dancing Queen. Out of the deepest pain and longing- out of a loss that didn’t make any sense- something exquisite was born. And you can feel the spirit of love absolutely bursting from every inch of that place.

She said the garden is her therapy. Her refuge. From her seemingly endless well of grief has sprung what God has communed with her to grow. And it is resplendent. My mama heart actually feels as if it’s being stabbed with a garden stake when I think of what she has been through. I cannot imagine it. I cannot imagine losing my daughter. There is nothing and no one in this world that I love the way I do my girl. And I can tell this mama cherished her daughter with everything she had. Now she honors her by doing everything she can. If grief is love with nowhere to go, her daughter lives on in everything she grows.

I think about that mama in her garden often. My heart wants to believe she feels her daughter’s presence there. A few months after my mom passed away, I was taking a walk in the park behind my house. A gorgeous butterfly flew toward me and I, without hesitation, said “Hi, Mom.” I felt her there in that moment. And that butterfly stayed near to me for the longest time until a swift gust took her away as quickly and unexpectedly as she came. It is my prayer that the garden mama feels her daughter not only in fleeting moments of time, but constantly. As if in every new blossom she hears her daughter say, “Hi, Mom.” I want that for her so badly.

In my own garden, I’ve learned that I don’t have as much command as I sometimes like to think. The mint actually sprawled beyond its own pot and strangled out the oregano. The basil- which had become so abundant it took up three huge pots- died over the winter. When sprouts appeared in one of the pots recently, I was so excited. It turned out to be tarragon. I don’t even understand how that happened. And, yeah, I followed every single gardening rule I know to grow strawberries. But my face still puckers thinking about the one I recently harvested. I have a lot to learn. Mostly, I just have to remind myself that it’s a privilege to get to do this at all. I celebrate the small victories such as getting to clip herbs that I grew myself for the dinner I’ll make for my husband. That’s another kind of nurturing I enjoy. I’m running out of recipes that include mint, though.

I recently got to visit my daughter at her apartment in downtown L.A. She has a patio garden and countless houseplants. She even has one of those really cool propagation fixtures on her living room wall. It’s impressive what she can grow. She certainly didn’t learn those skills from me. It is my hope that she feels the presence of her grandmother (a black thumb) and great grandmother (a master gardener) as she’s tending to her plants. I hope I get to join those women in heaven long before my daughter ever leaves this world and that she’ll feel me in the small, beautiful things. That one day after I’ve left, I’ll get to return to her as a bumble bee or dragonfly and she’ll recognize me and say, “Hi, Mom.” I hope she gets to know and trust that God is communing with her in cultivating her wonderful and precious life. And I hope she one day gets to have her heart absolutely blown wide open through bringing a child of her own into this world. Because that is one of the greatest gifts that God can give. I want that for her so badly.

In closing (this was a long one, right?), I want to say that I’m so glad God still lets me be here. I hope I always see love and beauty in creation. I hope I’m always excited to participate in it. I hope I always have a heart to pray for the mamas. And their daughters. And I hope those I’ve lost will keep making their presence known. I want that for me so badly. And I want that for you, too.

Xoxo, B