Connecting / Letting Go
Gardening is usually a solitary activity for me. This suits my introvert soul, which is one reason gardening is such a source of comfort and peace for me. Paradoxically, gardening is also a way I connect with others. Growing things with my favourite people in mind, and sharing what I grow, is one way I show people I love them.
Every year I ask my family if they have any requests for what I grow in the garden. I am attempting to grow watermelons for the second year in a row, because it's the only thing my son requested when I asked him. We don't really have a long enough warm season for watermelon, but it's a fun challenge. I grow beans in great quantities because my partner loves them, and I got our little blueberry bush with him in mind. Every Mother's Day I plant tulips with my mother in her garden, even though flower bulbs aren't really my thing. And whenever I grow bee-attracting flowers, I grow a few extra seedlings to give to a dear friend. She isn't a veggie grower, but she loves seeing bees in her flower garden. I even grow catnip for the cats, in the sunroom in an old macrome hanging flower pot holder so they can't destroy it.
Well, I should say 'cat.' It's just the one cat, now.
This week I found myself gardening not to connect, but to let go. Our dear cat Oracle was hit by a car last weekend, and we were devistated. He was only one year old. He should have had so many more happy years with us. He was first and foremost my son's cat, and they were great friends. I would have preferred cremation, but we left it up to our son, and he wanted to bury him in the back yard. It was the first really hot day of the year, and yet I found myself digging in the baking hot sun. Not to plant, but to say goodbye to our beloved pet. A friend suggested we plant something over the grave, and our son chose catnip.
Planting catnip outdoors provided a challenge - at once a welcome distraction, and one more thing to do, when I was exhausted from grief and sort of dragging myself through the day. So I took my time, and completed the task over a couple of blessedly cooler days. The thing about catnip is that cats like it. A lot. The first time I planted catnip, I put it in a pot outside. Twenty minutes later I looked out the kitchen window and saw a neighbour's cat sniffing it. The next day I found it complete destroyed - not just eaten but smashed, flattened. What followed was a battle of wits, wherin I kept coming up with ways to keep cats out, and that neighbour's cat kept getting into it anyway.
I had certainly learned a few things about what not to do from my last adventure in growing catnip outdoors. This was going to be for Oracle; I felt a duty to make sure it didn't get destroyed. I found a little wooden frame for a tiny raised bed, just lying around the garden (as so many things are). Its about one foot by two feet. I happen to have a large quantity of hardware cloth with 1/2 inch spacing. It's must stronger and less flexible than chicken wire, and a cat couldn't even get a paw through it. Perfect for making a catnip cage. I affixed the walls of the cage to the inside of the wooden frame with a staple gun. I made the top a sort of door, with wire running all along one edge for a hinge, and the other sides fixed with just a few twists of wire.
I placed this over the grave, slightly pressed into the soil. I filled it with good soil and dug in a little compost. I invited my son out to plant it. He placed the plant gently in the hole and carefully pressed soil in around it.
I don't know if it made me feel any better. In those first days, it didn't seem like anything could make me feel better. But it gave me something to do. Some way to keep moving forward. And isn't that what these kinds of rituals are for? Funerals, after all, are for the living.
I hope that, in the days to come, tending this little plant and watching it grow will give me a way to keep Oracle's memory alive. Like everything else in the garden, I'll just have to give it time. After all, I am a great believer in the healing power of gardening.
Oracle in one of his favourite places - the sunroom.
Every year I ask my family if they have any requests for what I grow in the garden. I am attempting to grow watermelons for the second year in a row, because it's the only thing my son requested when I asked him. We don't really have a long enough warm season for watermelon, but it's a fun challenge. I grow beans in great quantities because my partner loves them, and I got our little blueberry bush with him in mind. Every Mother's Day I plant tulips with my mother in her garden, even though flower bulbs aren't really my thing. And whenever I grow bee-attracting flowers, I grow a few extra seedlings to give to a dear friend. She isn't a veggie grower, but she loves seeing bees in her flower garden. I even grow catnip for the cats, in the sunroom in an old macrome hanging flower pot holder so they can't destroy it.
Well, I should say 'cat.' It's just the one cat, now.
This week I found myself gardening not to connect, but to let go. Our dear cat Oracle was hit by a car last weekend, and we were devistated. He was only one year old. He should have had so many more happy years with us. He was first and foremost my son's cat, and they were great friends. I would have preferred cremation, but we left it up to our son, and he wanted to bury him in the back yard. It was the first really hot day of the year, and yet I found myself digging in the baking hot sun. Not to plant, but to say goodbye to our beloved pet. A friend suggested we plant something over the grave, and our son chose catnip.
Planting catnip outdoors provided a challenge - at once a welcome distraction, and one more thing to do, when I was exhausted from grief and sort of dragging myself through the day. So I took my time, and completed the task over a couple of blessedly cooler days. The thing about catnip is that cats like it. A lot. The first time I planted catnip, I put it in a pot outside. Twenty minutes later I looked out the kitchen window and saw a neighbour's cat sniffing it. The next day I found it complete destroyed - not just eaten but smashed, flattened. What followed was a battle of wits, wherin I kept coming up with ways to keep cats out, and that neighbour's cat kept getting into it anyway.
I had certainly learned a few things about what not to do from my last adventure in growing catnip outdoors. This was going to be for Oracle; I felt a duty to make sure it didn't get destroyed. I found a little wooden frame for a tiny raised bed, just lying around the garden (as so many things are). Its about one foot by two feet. I happen to have a large quantity of hardware cloth with 1/2 inch spacing. It's must stronger and less flexible than chicken wire, and a cat couldn't even get a paw through it. Perfect for making a catnip cage. I affixed the walls of the cage to the inside of the wooden frame with a staple gun. I made the top a sort of door, with wire running all along one edge for a hinge, and the other sides fixed with just a few twists of wire.
I placed this over the grave, slightly pressed into the soil. I filled it with good soil and dug in a little compost. I invited my son out to plant it. He placed the plant gently in the hole and carefully pressed soil in around it.
I don't know if it made me feel any better. In those first days, it didn't seem like anything could make me feel better. But it gave me something to do. Some way to keep moving forward. And isn't that what these kinds of rituals are for? Funerals, after all, are for the living.
I hope that, in the days to come, tending this little plant and watching it grow will give me a way to keep Oracle's memory alive. Like everything else in the garden, I'll just have to give it time. After all, I am a great believer in the healing power of gardening.
Oracle in one of his favourite places - the sunroom.
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