My yard looks awful. Most of the plant life is crunchy, dull brown, and decaying. The only things lush and green are the unsightly weeds that somehow survived the hard freeze. It’s an embarrassment given the “Yard of the Month” sign has graced the plot of land in previous years.
My personal yard man, Jeff, gathered all my potted favorites prior to the cold-weather event and put them in the shed. The one I most wanted to save (received it at the hospital after the birth of my now 17-year-old) fared quite well, but all of the others, not so much. I’m hoping to nurse them back to health.
The flowerbeds went uncovered as the major occupants are freeze-hardy, and the lesser inhabitants, well, I’ve wanted to dig them out and do something different for a good while. It seemed harsh ripping up live plants while they still served their purpose, even if they were no longer what I desired. In a cruel act, I allowed them freeze to death. Until very recently, I busied myself to assuage the guilt and turned my eyes from the carnage upon entering and exiting my home.
Since February is knocking on our door, I began my customary early-spring cleaning. (We only get so much sunshine minus the sweltering heat. I’ll not waste one minute of it cooped up indoors once spring has officially sprung.) Worked like a mad woman inside, cleaning this, scrubbing that, gathering up items and clothing no longer wanted or needed, etc. Long, boring story short, and since I refuse to clean kids’ rooms, I finished with time to spare.
A couple of nice sunshine-filled days prompted Scooter (my guard dog) and I to begin working in the yard – assessing what needed to be done by the resident yard man. (I should mention that Jeff LOVES for me to do this. He more appreciates it when I prepare a written list where he can check items off and track his progress. It’s the least I can do.)
The nice weather also provided me an excuse to stay outside post assessment and actually do some work. I pulled up the victims of my premeditated herbicide and began plucking the weed-infested areas.
True to my form, I started thinking of the parallels between the human condition and nature. (Yes, it’s sometimes exhausting being inside my head. Planning to spend some time thinking about whether or not I overthink things. ) Anyway, it occurred to me that over the course of many years I’ve blown a few of my own arctic blasts – froze a few things and left them to rot.
Through a great deal of reflection and a subsequent thaw, I realized that I had turned my back, chose not help those things recover, or bother to clear away the weeds that nearly choked them out for good. My flowerbeds have been sprinkled with my blood and sweat on numerous occasions. I can now add tears to the list.
The upside: as I care for my still-alive plants, I realize that a hard freeze doesn’t necessarily mean the end. Pruning away damage and providing tender loving care makes way for something fresh, new, and possibly better than what was there before. And since I remember how quickly I frosted a few things, I have the added comfort of knowing that rapid freeze-drying actually prevents decay and spoilage – what’s underneath has been perfectly preserved.
So don’t be alarmed if you see a woman watering flowers with tears on a sunny day, she’s pouring out her heart and melting some frosty layers away.
© 2010 Natalie Whatley