I can fill your heart with more love and more joy than age or time could ever destroy… Lyric from More Love, by The Miracles- Yup, that’s what they give me. Thank you Smokey Robinson for the sound track that matches my emotions each time I wander past my sunflowers or zinnias or my ripening Sweet 100’s. My dawn and dusk inspection ritual is like my own private treasure hunt - an art gallery of live paintings that change on the daily. My Monet moments. My more joy. My maternal grandfather was an avid gardener who lived well into his nineties. He often wondered aloud why “god hadn’t taken him yet”. I know why. He kept being lured to live another season. Another harvest. It was where he found peace in his day. Where he went to reconcile his life, his joys and possibly even his demons. Did he talk to his Dahlias? Did he ask them for advice? For forgiveness? Was his garden the one place he found joy? As I get older, I find myself talking to my plants. I am certain I brought a new Spruce tree back to life this past spring by coaxing it with my voice. It was not looking hopeful early on. Winter had been harsh and it was planted late the previous autumn. Thinking it had not had time to firmly establish, I hovered over him every few days, gently cheering him on. There appeared to be some life left in him, so, I encouraged him. “C’mon little guy, you can do it - here, have some more water.” In all honesty, I did not expect him to make it. His needles were dropping, his bones becoming more visible with each visit. He stood alone, a circle of rocks fencing him in - protection against the ride-on mower. As spring was coming to an end and summer fast approaching, I decided it might be time to uproot what was left of his dying carcass and make the mowing easier. But then, a miracle occurred. Shovel in hand, I headed out toward him, feeling sad about the task I was about to perform and that is when I had to rub my eyes, lean in for a closer look and take notice of the emerging flush of soft pale green needles sprouting from the tips of his branches. “You’re ALIVE!”, I shouted to the sky and the startled Blue Jays perched in the ancient apple tree nearby. “You did it! You pulled through!” More joy. And then there is the anticipation. Talk about foreplay. The tiny emerging buds. The days and sometimes weeks of swelling before the explosive orgy of blooms that take your breath away like that first true love on repeat every growing season. More joy. As addicted to love as I may have been in my younger years, I have a new vice in my later life. Give me a seed or a sapling and I’ll plant that baby in some nutrient rich soil and watch it grow with all the enthusiasm of a pent up opium addict in a field of poppies. The satisfaction of watching something become stronger and healthier and more beautiful over time is as rewarding as motherhood… without the backtalk. More joy. In recent decades the emphasis on one’s purpose in life has been the focus of nearly every self-help bestseller ever published. I have surely read my fair share of them, from Tolle to the Tao Te Ching and I can assure you that if you are still grappling with your own quest for purpose and meaning in your life, try creating or observing life in nature. Immerse yourself. It always gives back - be it food for other living things or the simple act of being beautiful - a subject for painters or photographers or poets. Even as I write this piece, I sense inspiration has departed, so I just took a walk, past the woods, down to the dock to check on my stump full of life. The nasturtiums are blooming, the frogs are resting on the lily pads and turtles are sunning themselves on our fallen Elm and tiny schools of fish are darting in and out of the shade of underwater grasses and and other-worldly looking organic matter. A flock of geese made a noisy landing while I watered a fern hanging in a tree. It has been recovering all spring and summer under the shade of an old Cedar from a long winter spent indoors, not unlike most Canadians desperate for fresh air and sunshine. It seems to be liking the lake water I have been administering these last few weeks. Several new tender green fronds have appeared as I had hoped. More joy. A few deep breaths of the gentle breeze drifting off the bay and I am refreshed and ready to compose again. It is easy to forget the world living here at Kyeema North. It made life during the pandemic far easier for me than for many people. I was not stuck indoors or worried about spreading it or catching it by simply going to work each day. I embraced my natural instinct toward introversion and counted my lucky stars. The only concerts I attended were cricket choruses and songbird symphonies with the occasional bellowing band of Trumpeter Swans passing by. In the winter months I grew Arugula on my window sills and waited for spring when I could start all over again - another season of growing and watching and waiting for the greatest show on earth. More joy. Oddly enough, writing about the joy of nature and gardening gives me a sense of purpose. I was not one of those people who knew from the get-go what they wanted to devote their life to like a doctor or a musician or a nun (definitely not that last one), but I have always liked writing and it was usually a component of any job I ever had. I wrote press releases, marketing copy, design proposals, you name it, I could write it, but it never engaged me like this does. Perhaps the lack of deadlines and the freedom of subject matter gives me the creative jolt I crave. Combine that with contemplating what I might write while I am tending to my gardens or strolling through the forest and suddenly it seems like a purpose. Can my words and my experience nudge another soul? Inspire a depressed mind? Plant a hopeful seed for the broken-hearted? Does my writing offer a free service, in service? All I can say is if it does… More Joy. https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-d&q=more+love+smokey+robinson
4 Comments
Cuz
8/17/2022 01:48:58 pm
More joy. I have to say that your writing tends to bring me to a calmer state. Allows me to exhale through you. So thank you. Also makes me jealous that I don’t have a Kyeema North for myself! Hugs cuz.
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Deb
8/18/2022 05:57:25 am
Thanks for that. Nice to know my writing is having a positive effect.
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Carla Sandrin
9/2/2022 08:38:26 am
I love your writing, Deb. I am just catching up on your posts now and I'm really enjoying them. You definitely do offer inspiration - maybe I will resurrect my Blog too...
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Margot
9/10/2022 05:32:53 pm
I talk to my plants too. Not as many as yours.
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DEBunked.I see nature as a metaphor for life. Please join me on this journey down the garden path as I explore life through story - a shovel in one hand and a camera in the other. Archives
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