Today, I am worn out. The day started with so much excitement. I woke up like a kid on Christmas morning, eager to finally put things in the ground, happy to know that by the end of the day, there would be living things in a place that had been desolate for months. I got to work early, planning to get all my work done by noon, so I could have a whole afternoon to pick up the first of the bushes at the nursery and plant them. For the first time in days, I found myself smiling without feeling like the act threatened to stop my heart. I had hope! But it was short-lived.
By noon, my exuberance had been overtaken by a paralyzing knot in my stomach. soon, there was no more denying it: I was afraid. What if this didn't work? What if the things I planted did not survive? I realized I was investing so much in this metaphor for my marriage that the thought of my first three Monterey Bay Brush Cherry bushes not taking root filled me with despair. Even worse, what if they did flourish and my marriage died anyway? This was just a garden, after all, and not some magic place where I could change the landscape of my life by sticking some shrubs in the ground. And I was only putting in three. Assuming a successful outcome, there would be so many more holes to dig, soil to turn...
I left work in a full-blown panic, not even bothering to say goodbye to my coworkers. During the short drive home, I burst into tears. My wife was thousands of miles away, deciding if she still wanted to be with me and I had been stupid enough to be excited about yard work?
I prayed for peace. And then it hit me. God had not told me that landscaping my yard would save anything. For all I knew, I was supposed to landscape so the house would be easier to sell during a divorce. The end result was not my concern. He had told me to landscape the yard, and I had promised to do what he asked me to. Period. I had turned it into a list of expectations, a means to achieve my deepest desire to save what I'd put at risk. He had made no such distinctions.
Some long lost sense of obedience to His will kicked in and, though I was tempted to throw myself on my bed and bury my head in the pillows, I changed into some grubby clothes and rushed back out the door. I was not going to quit on this. I was in such a hurry to leave, I drove all the way to the nursery before realizing I had left my wallet in my work slacks. Another drive home. Another struggle with despair. The I was at the nursery again. Time to buy some Eugenia Myrtifolia.
A man who looked like an overgrown garden gnome met me at the information gazebo and asked me if I needed help.
"I need to buy some plants," I said, as if there was another reason I would be there. What an idiot I am!
"Do you know what you want?" asked the nursery gnome.
"Yes," I responded, feeling safer with one word answers.
"Well, that puts you ahead of most people who come here. They usually have no idea what they're looking for."
I felt a sudden urge of affection for this animate lawn ornament for the unmerited pat on the back.
Then he asked, "So what do you need?"
I stopped myself from answering, "Plants" again and ruining his positive opinion of me. I had left the notebook in which Sharon had written our plant choices at home, though, so I had no idea what the bushes I was looking for were called. Instead, I answered, "I know where they are," and, gnome in tow, I headed for the shrub section. Surprisingly, I did know where they were, and I quickly picked out three likely candidates.
"This is a hardy plant," said my bearded guide. He was a lawn fountain of good news, this one, and I needed him to keep giving me more of it. "It has a very deep taproot, and prefers direct sunlight. It does have fruit, but don't worry if they get eaten. They're tart, but totally edible."
I resisted the urge to hug him, paid for my treasures and left. I'd made a good choice it seemed, and desperately needed as many of those as I could have. On a whim, I stopped by Home Depot and picked up some Quikrete, rebar and baling wire. There were arches to be built, and I was feeling frisky.
The dogs were, too. They have apparently decided that me in work clothes equals new and exciting games to play in the backyard, and they made a beeline for The Dirt Patch as soon as I let them out. They didn't get to stay long, though, because I couldn't get them to stay off of the soil long enough to dig it up, much less plant anything. Besides, if Holli tried to eat my Monterey Brush Cherries, I would have killed her, thereby ending my fledgling streak of good decisions.
I'd love to say the rest of the experience was dramatic, but it wasn't. In no time at all, the bushes were in the ground...I guess my prep work paid off...and I stood there watering them. I must say, I half expected them to burst into spontaneous bloom. A couple more holes in the ground, some experiments with concrete, and I had the beginnings of the arches, as well.
All in all, not a bad day's work. Still, looking at how lonely those Monterey Bay Brush Cherries looked in the corner of our yard, I couldn't help but think there would be many more bad days to work through before this looked like a garden.
"If Sharon were here, she'd give those bushes names," I thought. Then I burst into tears.
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