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My little garden. Visitors would step out onto my patio, surrounded by a six-foot privacy fence and shaded by a heritage oak, and exclaim, “Oh! It’s like a secret garden!”
It was. With its fountain, bird feeders, glider bench, and plants everywhere, it was a secret garden. A little oasis.
And I sold and gave away almost all of it.
That was harder than moving. Harder than letting go of books, of furniture, of pots and pans. When I drained the fountain and watched it go out the door with a half-dozen plants, I thought I was going to throw up. Luckily a friend was there to catch me with a hug.
Now it is Spring. Daffodils are popping up and trees are blossoming out, and I am remembering my little garden. My volunteer oak and walnut trees are probably leafing out, my Chinese purple fringe bush is probably blooming somewhere, and I can see my foam flowers and coral bells in my minds eye. Soon the three-foot Sweet Lavender bush that I grew from a two-inch pot and looked like an ancient, gnarled bonsai will be blooming, and the giant rose geranium, also grown from a two-inch start that Bruce ordered for me eleven years ago, will open its riot of pink flowers in May.
Now they will be blooming for someone – many someones – else. Ah, my little friends, scattered to the four winds like seeds, I hope you bring them as much joy as you brought me. I needed to make room in my life for something new to come in, and it is. I wish you well out in the world.
And. I brought a handful of plants when I moved in temporarily with a friend. Not because I couldn’t replace them, but as a promise to myself. A jade plant (cuttings from a friend), an angel-wing begonia and a dragon-wing begonia that have followed me as cuttings around the country, a small ivy topiary, a peppermint geranium, and a rose geranium that I grew from a cutting from the original rose geranium. And another friend offered to foster my rose bushes in containers. It’s time to go and visit.
I have a tiny garden to keep my thumb green while I cultivate a new garden in my heart. Life’s transitions are sometimes painful, even if they’re beneficial, and Spring always follows Winter. Always.
Grow well, my little darlings that went to new homes. Bloom where you’re planted – a good lesson for us all.
Here’s a little Spring for your heart…
Would you like to talk to a coach with experience in
transitions and grief?
I invite you to contact me: susan @ susanTblake . com .