February 2004 Issue - Essay # 9
It's
Coming Along
By Diane Payne
It
wasn't long after I started digging my garden when friends dropped by to
watch, expressing fears filled with gloom and doom, positive it'd snow
before the seedlings appeared. Still,
they always left with a glimmer of hope, saying, "It's coming
along." And
coming along it was. I planted new seeds every day and placed marigolds
and pansies all along the boundaries.
Then I’d sit beside my garden, admiring the flowers, pleased
with the hard work, eagerly awaiting the seeds to sprout. I
had started my seeds in little peat moss containers and stored them in
plastic bags beneath the bathroom sink.
My hardened, mountain neighbors looked as me if I was a desert
rat with no idea about weather, a flatlander who knew nothing about
elevation, a gardening fool who knew nothing about gardens.
But, they were wrong. I
had studied up on plants. It
was August and I was preparing for my fall garden.
Within
a couple of days of being planted, I noticed the sun had fried the
marigolds. While mourning
the loss of my flowers, I remembered the seeds I had started beneath the
sink and was relieved to find new seedlings. Neither the plants nor I
were giving up. The sun took
a beating on my flowers, but there were new seedlings to plant.
One
afternoon, we had an incredible windstorm.
Peering out the window, I watched boards and aluminum flying
through the sky. After the
storm was over, I ran outside and witnessed the havoc wrecked on my
pansies. Even the hardiest
of plants couldn't withstand this wind.
Still, I planted more seedlings and wished them well. When
friends came for dinner, they looked at my garden and sighed. Adamant, I
said they'd have fresh tomatoes and beans in no time.
How could anyone go wrong with onions or beets?
They ate my dinner and smiled politely.
Before leaving, they wished my garden well, and said their
faithful farewell greeting: "It's coming along."
But, I could tell they were certain they'd never eat a fresh beet
or onion from my garden.
"This
is the "But
yours don't seem to last long," Geoffrey said.
"What
is long?" I asked.
"Oh, well, it's coming along," Mary answered, wanting to spare me any hurt feelings. ********** Late
September, our first snow fell, and friends came out to ski. After
skiing through the forest, we returned to my garden, the garden that had
seemed so dismal just one day before, and admired how beautiful it had
become with all the drooping flowers and vegetables blanketed by snow,
resting peacefully, free of all the burdened effort required to simply
survive. Though no one
really said anything, somehow the garden became a celebration for all of
us as we quietly recognized just how far the garden had come along.
It
was a personal celebration done in unison, a lot like gardening and
salad making, and watching the moon, and feeling the seasons change. A
lot like being lost in memories while surrounded by friends.
The plants were suddenly released to do their own snow dance, grateful to have until next spring before being prodded and turned. And I was equally relieved to have a season free of this emotional gardening, a season to be awake while so many hibernate, a season to simply ski down snow-covered roads. |
| Author's Biography Diane
now lives in Diane is faculty advisor for the Foliate Oak and they are seeking submissions at: www.uamont.edu/foliateoak E-mail
Diane at diane_payne@hotmail.com
|
Essay
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