Looking Ahead
I spent much of yesterday morning in the yard and gardens. Mowing, edging, pruning, digging on my knees. I took a long walk into town. At the end of the day, my hands ached, my arms grew sore, I tired. It felt good. My troubled mind was quiet. I slept, a second consecutive uninterrupted night. I might be onto something. Get the brain into survival mode, managing the body, and all else will follow.
In a way, it’s a lot like the approach my plants take. Brainless, they cherish life, nonetheless. A traumatic event occurs the system automatically adjusts. My sage nearly froze and looked lifeless, now along its once bare branches little buds of green are sprouting. The Mountain Laurels are doing the same. A branch too far, however, is left for dead. My Barbados cherry, for instance, took a hard hit. It’s coming back from the roots. They have a way of assessing the damage nature hands out and deciding where to place their energy to keep on going. Pragmatic.
If only it were that easy. Back to the troubled mind. It remembers: the perfect spring, a kiss from the sun in summer, the long, glorious branch full of leaves and birds. It wants them forever. It aches for them when they pass and looks to recreate them when they do. Nothing pragmatic at all. Perhaps, however, that’s the human secret, go all out, explore every avenue, touch every heart, accept every embrace, never surrender. Because while the plant might know what life is, by remembering, we know what life can be.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale