In the late fall when I move my geranium plants indoors I think of my friend, Miss Marie. It was from her that I learned to do this. Soon I’ll have to cut them back, but for now, I’m enjoying the last of their blooms.
It will be two years ago in February, at the age of 72 that Marie passed away. Her white two-story house on the corner in the hub of our quaint downtown was sold to a gentleman who buys up homes in the area and rents them out to tenants.
It’s been sad to watch the changes to the property since then. Many of the shrubs have disappeared. Then this summer the black ornate wrought iron gate to the entrance of her house was taken down. Before I became friends with Marie, I’d often think of that gate as the entrance to a secret garden, and behind it, I was curious about the mysterious woman who lived inside.
Walking by what was once Marrie’s house is part of my morning route. Today as I rounded the corner I sensed something different once again. As I walked a little further I saw that the garden off to the side of the house was completely gone. Tears sprang to my eyes. It’s now covered over with gravel and has been made into a large parking area. Even the sidewalk that led from her back porch out to her art studio is gone.
The garden, with raspberry plants that leaned over the walkway, and how I’d often sneak a berry or two as I sauntered up the sidewalk to the back porch when I’d visited Marie were now gone too.
Tears filled my eyes and my heart ached for how Marie loved birds and the many that hung out in her garden (and stole the berries too!) who no longer have this special place to dwell. The stories we’d share of critters that often appeared at her home or mine — the toads, frogs, and the dragonflies, oh my (!) — and how we both took such great delight in these sightings.
It all felt so harsh. I could barely contain my sadness as I continued on my path home. Marie loved nature, flowers, books, and animals and was an artist that collaged fabric into the most exquisite designs – she had quite the eye for combining colors and patterns together!
I realized once again why my attraction to her all those years ago when I’d catch glimpses of her downtown or at the post office – and her eccentric style always fascinated me. She lived simply but also loved to indulge now and then in a few of the finer things of life, which she was able to do so with a depth of joy because of her frugalness. Somehow it just made those indulgences all the sweeter. I loved how her eyes lit up and her whole body came alive in excitement when she’d share with me the experience of something she had saved up to do.
For a moment I wanted to just stuff it all down and not feel the heaviness of it all. For a moment I wondered why I feel these things at this depth. I thought to myself that it was silly to be mourning a garden. For a moment I didn’t want to be the person who feels so deeply.
But it is who I am. I realized once again that just as I feel something like this so deeply I’m also able to experience great joy in things others may think seemingly ‘small.’
I realized also it’s the essence of Marie that is a part of who I am too and that I continue to strive to be. Nature, animals, art, books, and indulgences in the finer things now and then is what brings me joy too — and what makes me deeply appreciate life.
While I can’t bring back Marie’s garden, I can continue to carry on that very spirit of who she was and who I am too. In many ways, the steps I walk through this life, Marie walks with me and the mourning I experienced with the loss of her garden today was in fact my missing her here in this life.
But it strengthened my determination once again to live the principles that are in alignment with my heart — and the sorrow that had enveloped my heart for a time during my walk this morning is a beautiful thing. And before I knew it I found myself smiling at all the sweet and fun memories.
And this box that contains some gelato crayons that sits on my art table in my Joyful Pause Cottage. It was a box Marie gave to me one day that contained some chocolates inside. I was just as excited about the box, as Marie was mid-sentence that she said to return it when the chocolates were gone, that she changed her mind and with a smile said to keep the box because she saw how happy it made me.
And I realized now looking at this box how it is a nudge from Marie to continue to experiment with the collage pieces I’ve been making and to continue to make art more a part of my life.
A moment of sadness that turned to sweet memories that turned to inspiration…
xo,
Barbara
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