In Search Of...

It's a much too balmy evening. In the 80's in Vermont in June, just not right. My beautiful gardens have burst into bloom and incredibly I watch their petals melt in the abnormal heat. The dogs and myself are melting too, Charlie is beside himself as he has the energy of a young dog whose not been walked by his 64 year old owner who can't abide the heat. He, despite his constant panting, is unknowing that the pavement would burn his feet. His mother Addie, wiser in the things of a dog's life is content by my feet.

The gardens are stunning. After 15 years, nature and design have come into co-existence. The luxuriously scented cinnamon rugosa rose has nestled her blooms into my father's discounted $5.00 yet glowing blue spruce from Wegmans sold end of season, now taller than me. 

The lilac is also a homage to my Dad: it was one of his favorites even though he could never, or perhaps because he could never, get it to grow at our home but gave him memories of his own. Even now I can see what he saw and acknowledge that I carry forward my Dad's love.  The peonies were Mom and Dad’s wedding flowers and are starting to bloom. Mom especially caringly tended them. Jim and my wedding bouquets were composed of both hers and my Grandmother's. How do you hold eternity - only by carrying it forward. 

As did my brother Steve. Once the exploring gardener of my parent's property (they were awesome like that, letting each of us eight children explore through what they had), Steve brought a few root stocks from my parent's garden to Vermont over 30 years ago. I've nurtured them two moves since, despite leaving a detrimental marriage in the between space. 

Love of peonies

One flower is mine solely; the regal variety of flags that each season I anticipate have always been one of my favorites—I bow my head to the gardener's before me with vision and patience who have widened these many colors, forms, and growing habits. And of course a bow to Canada who has long before me recognized this.

Hidden in the labyrinth, the corn is coming up—once Jim’s favorite until cancer stole his ability to enjoy it. I plant it for him and for my Dad. I would follow in my Dad's so huge footsteps. He taught me how to plant: where to plant each kernel, how to hoe up around each tender plant, and then the joy of eating the rich, sweet, grass fresh, unblemished ear from the field, a gift my daughter Tegan knows as well.

The promise of corn

Years ago, when my gardener Dad and care taking Mom were no longer able to do either, I changed my foremost garden into a labyrinth due to the sense of calm gifted to me walking the labyrinth at Peace Village.  Each round about, I hold them in my heart and in my thoughts...

I spent time researching the history of such spaces and how to design them. With my sister Theresa and sister-in-law Joanne we visited another retreat, this time Catholic, and found an amazing nun, retiring with a huge library of mystical books within which I discovered the mystery of labyrinths. Magical. Mine is so much simpler yet it is my unsuspecting prayer garden with gifts associated with it.

Home and Prayer

In the center, I've placed a rock from Maine that personally for me has the spirit of the stone of Adelphi in Greece. This spring a pair of chipping sparrows made it their home. As one can imagine, when Jim was sick, I walked this labyrinth daily bowing south towards our house in gratitude for my family, west towards Burlington in gratitude for my work, north facing my neighbors in gratitude for community, and definitely not least towards the forest in awe and gratitude for astounding nature, the supreme amplification of innocence, beauty, and violence that is God. That is Life and Death and Eternity.

Nature is never kind

It is so lovely here and as time has passed as I write, the birds have quieted yet the frogs, OH MY GOD, they are so LOUD! Tree frogs, bullfrogs, green frogs! I am so happy that Jim and I gave them a home. Our owl calls only 100 feet from me "Oh Ohh OOH OOOH!" another responds 100 feet to her right. Concert happening here on Tyler Place. Night is descending.

Here I am taking it all in. Is that a fox calling too? 

This place is for sharing. Jim loved it, though never a gardener or one of the forest, he loved it and in his last year even more so. The owls are now calling to each other one to the north, one to the south. Yet here I sit, Charlie, Bella, Addie and I missing....

Not a gardener but he delighted and he built.

I ask myself, is this right place for us now? This is a place for sharing, revering, protecting... I am one.

Here I am with God's blessed creatures. The night has cooled the heat. Here I am in this glorious place searching. Searching for whom and how I might share? Is now a past event? But the supreme beauty of it all, irises and roses, bears and chipping sparrows! How can I ever leave this? In the midst of so much, our owl calls "Oooh, ooh, oooh oh". Like her, I am searching.