I COME TO THE GARDEN ALONE

Our son, Doug, now in Heaven, was an artist at heart. He knew beauty when he saw it and he created beauty in every home he built and every landscape he designed. After my childhood Kansas farm was abandoned, Doug salvaged the pump that supplied water for the livestock during the scorching hot summers when the creek dried up, and kept our garden growing so we could can and freeze vegetables that would guarantee us food during the harsh winters. Doug brought that pump to the city in which we then lived and set it in the middle of a tiny pool in our back yard. When we moved to the California mountains the pump came with us.  Doug and his brother, Jeff,  inserted a motor that recycles a lazy stream of water into the  pool below.  Around the unsightly edges of the pool I have laid colorful slabs of granite to create a natural looking effect. Shade-loving plants complete the lovely oasis. The racoons were elated, insisting on pool parties at midnight, then slipping away with no conscience whatsoever about the dead plants and muddy water they left behind.  Not to be defeated, I surrounded my little garden with a  four foot high wrought-iron fence and threaded it through with a hot wire. It worked. ...but not all the smaller night critters have seceded. Some water plant lovers wiggled through the fence, snacked and nibbled away until I have finally let them win the water lily war. They do not touch the other beautiful plants, and I am grateful.

For years I attempted to grow formal flowers in a 10'x5' sunny space across the patio from my little pool garden.  The deer and gophers loved those colorful annuals and I waged a losing battle again and again.  ...so for  the last three years I have planted only rather messy-looking perennials that I have grown to love and the critters disdain. This morning, as my kitties and I started our day sitting on the comfortable swing between the gardens,  we watched to see what animals and birds would join us. Would the mama deer and her twin babies make their way across the wall above us for a fresh drink of water from the birdbath?  We knew there would be blue jays and woodpeckers disturbing the morning quiet with their raucous calls, but would the covey of quail or the humming birds join us today?  Yes, they did, zooming over the garden, searching for the little cup flowers that would give up their nectar to these remarkable little birds whose endurance boggles the human mind.

Bootsie, my walking cat,  and I just returned from our morning stroll down the road to the bench where we sit side by side under a giant oak, contemplating,  as we watch for herds of deer or an occasional elk or two. We examined every footprint along the trail, discovering some that belong to a night creature I don't ever want to meet. Last night I could not sleep so I moved out to my front deck and snuggled down beneath the comforters on my chaise lounge, said "Good night, Full Moon" and slept peacefully through most of the night.

Ted and I lived in five cities during our sixty years of life together. With each city, my soul shriveled up a little bit more. Our second son, Jeff, as avid an outdoor person as are all my children and me, pointed out to his dad (who could live happily in a high rise above Times Square),  "Dad, my mother is dying". The greatest sacrifice my Ted ever made for me was to leave two sons in that city and bring me to the fresh air of my beloved mountains where my soul has been restored.

Some days, I climb the gracefully curving railroad-tie steps to the thousand year old oak under which rests the beautiful granite headstone that reads: Ted Stone. 1928-2010, under which are the words: "To God be the Glory".  I know full well that Ted is not there and that gladdens my heart for him.

I am in the winter of my life. If my remaining family retains this home, my headstone will rest beside Ted's, reading: "Great things He hath done." Until then, these ancient but alive words of Psalm 71:18 give me fulfillment and strength for each day:  "Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, O God, till I declare your power and your might to all who are to come."

                                  HYMN OF THE WEEK:  IN THE GARDEN

I come to the garden alone, while the dew us still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses.
AND HE WALKS WITH ME AND HE TALKS WITH ME
AND HE TELLS ME I AM HIS OWN
AND THE JOY WE SHARE AS WE TARRY THERE,
NONE OTHER HAS EVER KNOWN.

Love, Jo