The Love Found in Gardens

A few days ago, I paid a visit to Betty Carawan, my neighbor and friend. Her husband, Bill, had recently passed away.  Betty and Bill were among the first people to welcome us wholeheartedly to Hyde County, and I treasure every visit with them.  Bill was a kind and gentle man, and always ready to talk gardening with me.  He and Betty would stop by and admire my rookie gardening, and he would swear that I had the greenest thumb in the world.  I loved to keep them supplied with my harvest, especially the cantaloupes and watermelons, just for the pleasure of  hearing Bill tell me they were the best he had ever eaten.  They would generously share their plums and apples with me, and I would see the two of them working in their own expansive garden  companionably side by side, whenever I would pass their way.  As Bill's health began to decline, the garden got smaller and I would see him outside less and less, though I always felt blessed to catch a glimpse of him seated on his walker, looking out almost reverently over grass, garden, orchard, and field.  Betty told me that this spring he still talked about the garden, so she went out and planted a handful of tomatoes, peppers,cucumbers, and okra.  His health became so bad that he never got a chance to go outside and see it, but it brought him comfort to know it was there.  As I passed the little garden on my way home, I thought of the love she had put into that garden, and no elaborate memorial or headstone in the world could rival the perfect beautiful simplicity of those neat little rows.  I can imagine that no tomatoes anywhere will taste as sweet as those that Betty planted for Bill.

Last night, I was among hundreds saying goodbye to my husband's cousin, John Lane, Jr.  John was a Gates County farmer, by trade, heart, and soul.  He was also one of gentlest and kindest men that I had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and he had the unique ability to make everyone feel good just for his presence.  He welcomed me into the large and tightly knit Lane family with open arms.  I had never experienced the love and closeness of an expanded family such as theirs, and he would never fail to put me at ease at gatherings with his quiet smile, kind blue eyes, and wonderful stories.   When Cole was just learning how to walk, he would gaze upon John with his head tilted all the way back and in danger of tipping over on unsure toddler legs.  His eyes would grow round when John scooped him up and carried him around, as if he were at the top of the world.  John was 45, and there are no words to explain the unfairness of his being taken away so young and leaving behind this beautiful family who must now figure out where to go from here.  As we drove up the lane to John and Kellie's house, I saw the corn standing tall in the fields that he had planted, along with thousands of other acres of crops across Gates County.  I looked around at these wonderful people as they cried, hugged, and grieved together, and the love for this wonderful man was something so strong that you could almost touch it, breathe it in, and wrap it around you.  He touched so many people in such an intricate, expansive network akin to the roots of the crops that he so carefully tended.  John is there, and will always be - from the sandy soil, to green leaves of the young peanuts stretching out in endless rows, and to the sun, sky, and rain that watch over and nourish us all.  

A few weeks ago, I took a handful of peanuts that had been a gift from the Lane's last Thanksgiving.  The bulk had been used to feed my boys, from snacks to homemade peanut butter, but there were a few left over.  I thought I would experiment to see if my Hyde County soil could grow peanuts, so I carefully planted two rows and waited.  This morning I walked along my rows and saw the strong, young plants recently emerged, brilliant green leaflets waving in the wind.  These plants come from the peanuts that John had harvested, grown from the peanut seeds that he had planted.  With a little luck, I will harvest these peanuts this Fall.  My boys will grow, nourished on homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I will save some of those peanuts for the next year.  Even in Hyde County, John's touch will be here, and I will tell my oldest son that our peanuts come from another oldest of three brothers, one who loved the land and one who loved his family, and one we were all lucky enough to have known.

I can't help but wonder, as I walk between my rows this gray morning, when it is that my last garden will be planted.  None of us can ever know when our time here is done, but, if I had a choice, it would be some late June day well after the season's planting is done and the jars of the spring's strawberry preserves fill the cupboard.   When all that is left is for the plants to grow healthy and strong,  I will ask for the rains and gentle sun to fall upon my garden so that my family can pick basket upon basket.  With each slice of tomato or crisp bite of pepper, I will be there, grown vibrant and alive from the love that I planted for them along with each precious seed.  The immortality bestowed upon us by love is, indeed, a miraculous thing.