Winter Garden

  Gardening always gives me good metaphors for life.

Today I took advantage of a dry day to do a little yardwork.  I started by cutting the iris stalks and blades (I think iris is technically grass?). I had neglected them last year, although they bloomed anyway, and this fall they are bedraggled and very sad. Kind of like I’ve been feeling the last few days, actually. My mood has been grayer than the skies; maybe there’s a connection.  As I was cutting out the last two years’ growth of Iris blades I discovered tiny little bright green blades pushing up through the brown, dead material. It’s heartening to remember that even when we might feel hopeless and decayed, there is some bright lifeforce trying to push through the ugliness and find it’s way to the light.

Next stop: the roses.  Again, they had been neglected last fall and much of this summer. I gave them a much-needed pruning: think buzz-cut.  These roses have been here many years, I think, though I have only known them just over two years.  There is a great deal of old, dead wood and the new greener wood is having a difficult time finding a place to grow up out of the rootstock.  So I did as much heavy pruning as I could to give the roses a little better chance next spring. We’ll see if it helps.  Just to let me know they wouldn’t take this assault without a battle, a couple of the pruned branches got me pretty good with their thorns.

This reminds me again that sometimes we need to cut back things that look and feel okay or normal to make room for true new growth. This can be very painful.  I often get caught up in old stories, old beliefs, and unless I stop and examine those and toss a few out, I find myself being dragged into lifeless places where my quest to find authenticity is stifled or blocked. 

Final stop: the tree in my front yard. I’m not sure what it is, some type of ash, I think.  It has lovely scarlet leaves in the fall. And they’re much smaller than the maple leaves in my back  yard so a little easier to contend with.  However, this lovely tree has been very inexpertly pruned over the years and its form and shape are unhealthy. Not that I’m an expert by any stretch, but I do know a little bit about removing redundancy and cutting off branches that tend to grow downward instead of up.  Another lesson about removing things in my life that drag me down instead of helping me reach for the light. Using a hand-saw on the larger branches also gave me a good physical workout. Sometimes breaking a sweat helps break up negative thoughts.

So yes, working in the garden this afternoon gave me a feeling of accomplishment, got me out into the fresh air, and gave me a little exercise for both my body and my brain.  This time of year I often think it’s unfortunate that my life is in Western Oregon: my family, my friends. Late fall and early winter can really depress me – the short days, the lack of sun.  I don’t like to be cold. It might make more sense for me to find a sunnier, warmer place to spend my winters. Is living where the people I love are something in my life I need to prune?   Or could I just get a full-spectrum light and do something to mentally take a little vacation? 

The other thing I can try to do is focus on positives, think about others who might also be down and see what I can do to help them a little. Part of my downspin this week is a sense that I have no purpose, that I’m not making a difference in anyone’s life, that no one needs or appreciates me. So I focused on connecting with a few people who have been supportive to me in the past and thanking them, showing my appreciation, reminding them they make a difference to me.  And I checked in with a couple of women who lost their husbands this year, just telling them I care and I understand. I spent a little time on-line trying to see if there are some volunteer opportunities that might help me feel useful and needed. My spiritual director reminded me a couple weeks ago, and a friend reaffirmed it today, that perhaps my presence, just my being with and for others, is what I can do and what makes a difference, even though I may never realize that. 

My friend also suggested I stay with those hard, dark moments, to see where they lead. Does desolation lead us to light if we stay with it? I guess it did for John of the Cross and many other mystics. Perhaps it is only through that darkness that we can finally find the courage to go deep enough for the questions that really matter, to find that still, quiet voice of love and new life  hidden beneath the decay.