This week we honor those who grow their gardens with true love.
A garden may be grown for many reasons. Most gardeners I meet have certain hopes and goals they would like to attain in the garden, a more vigorous bloomer, more variety, a better understanding of one variety, a cut garden, edibles etc. There are many who just want a nice landscape and rarely notice it as they pass by or those who obsess over every new bit of growth on the manicured Pom Pom. Some may notice an inch out of place while another loves the messiness of nature.
On a very rare occasion we meet the gardener of love. One who will not allow you at first glance to understand the purpose of their zeal for this space. We may meet them at the nursery on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the spring. As the breeze blows gently we would stroll through the Kravo house eyes wide in expectation of Rhododendron and Azalea in bloom, the Hydrangea holding its breath for cue, Pieris tipping their dainty bonnets toward each visitor with a silent nod and the Japanese Maples imploring to be admired. We would then choose the perfect specimen; this tree was made for them. We would laugh at the funny story about the earlier morning shenanigans. Place a tag on the newly adopted Maple and make plans for its travel. Bidding adieu we carry on to what appears to be a quiet Sunday.
How would anyone know? It could not have been predicted. This tree – who beckoned to be loved – had it known? Was its purpose clear? We all need each other?
The tree proudly waited for the day to arrive when it would plant its roots deep into the soils of its new home – little did it know its heart was about to hold something very precious. Little did the gardener know they would water it with their tears.
This tree, once sitting amongst many, wanting to be chosen needing a home became a beacon of love for the gardeners a presence only they could understand – a reminder that he lived – he loved – he is important – he is loved – he is not forgotten.
First you must understand these gardeners lost their son to a tragic car accident after the purchase of the tree – before the delivery of the tree – serendipity of sorts – a soft place for the aching heart to rest.
You see, when these gardeners go out to the garden it is more than a giant flower or how much fruit is on the fig tree it is about love. Love lost – love gained – love remembered. Sometimes we garden – sometimes we love and once in a while we pour our love into the garden.
