When the days grow longer, the skies shine blue and gold, the buds break open and show us their hearts. It's no wonder that plants and poetry come together in a mutual admiration society of spring. As soon as these things begin to happen, those eternal internal itches to weed, plant, and create claim our attention and time.
As they claimed mine last month I found myself riffling through my husband's portfolio of paintings and there I found it. A still life of his mother's long ago garden gloves, watering can, and his father's lovingly tended garlic — an image that brought a flood of memories and feelings.
Spring and such images as these are the stuff of which poetry is made. And in that sifting, browsing process I also came across a poem I had written in the early eighties to honor a friend who couldn't get enough gardening to make her happy, so she volunteered her time to her church to care for and beautify its lawns and gardens. In doing so,she was an inspiration to many, including me. It used to delight me when I drove by and saw her happily at work clipping the roses and cultivating, as this memory still does today.
Back then, as I wrote the poem I remember that a kind of serendipity happened. I knew my friend loved gardening and I knew she loved her church. My recognition of those two factors made me think of Kahlil Gibran's line, "Work is love made visible." I knew immediately that was the perfect epigraph for Wanda's poem. Of course all this reflection on that process led me to reflect on what makes me happy as well. It didn't take much introspection before I had to admit that in the springtime gardening certainly fills the bill, so just for the fun of it, I dashed off a couple of verses — "Prescription for Spring."
When I shared this with Gene he said, "It doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?"
I've been thinking about that question quite a lot lately, for that wasn't always the case. What I realize now is that as I experience family members and friends quietly making their departures from this world, the joy of gardening or tending a beloved child, companioning a relative or friend through a difficult spell, or even voting, seems like (to use a current favorite word of our six-year-old great grandson) a gi-normous gift. It is something precious and not to be taken for granted. To spend my time this way seems to be the most important thing I am here for. Although it may sometimes also bring sadness and loss, to be present in these ways makes me happy indeed. It's a perfect prescription for spring.
Gardener
Work is love made visible.
~Kahlil Gibran
| For Wanda Beck
Almost any afternoon
you can find her
working on the church property
clad in jeans or shorts
shovel or hoe in hand
writing love letters to the earth
in whispered accents of steel,
stone,
and soil. |
Beneath her faithful hands
order, symmetry, and beauty have blossomed
in place of weeds and wilderness.
Single handedly she has
transformed this garden
into a shining mirror of herself
this patron saint of petal prayers,
seedling wisdom
and sacred soil. |
Prescription for Spring
It takes only
a well worn pair
of good garden gloves,
a trusty trowel,
a bright spring day,
a few seeds or seedlings
and I'm here to say
I'm happy.
It doesn't take acres;
A few large planters,
a tomato plant or three,
bell peppers, cucumbers
'n some squash will do
with soft rich planter soil
to see us through
'n I'm happy.
|
Photographs and Paintings by Gene Elsdon
Monarch Butterfly Banner Image by Mike Baird
