You Reap What You Sow

Yesterday I finished cleaning out and tilling all of my flower and veggie beds.  Actually, I had finished both of the veggie beds in the back yard before the last snowstorm, but the long flower bed in front of the house was still blanketed with last fall’s crusty and membrane-y leaves, peanut shells and corn cobs that had been deposited there during the winter months by my neighborhood squirrel family, a few scattered weeds that thrive in the muck, large and small twigs that had blown down from my big wet-rotted tree, and the dead stems from last summer’s snapdragons.  There was enough crap in that 17’x1’ section to fill a lawn and leaf trash bag ¾ full. 

As I sat down in one of the Adirondack chairs on my front porch to bask in the satisfaction of my work and mentally plot out this year‘s arrangements, Houdini pulled up and got out of his car.  He skulked his 6’4” frame up the walkway and slumped into the chair opposite me.  My brother has recently begun dealing with his own “invisible issues” and knows that when he’s feeling defeated by them he can come to me for empathy, validation, and/or an emotional boost.  Our “issues” are different, but pain is pain.  He knows that I won’t compare my pain to his, nor will I cut him off to interject anecdotes of my own (unless he asks).  I won’t tell him what to do or how to feel (unless he asks).  Don’t misunderstand me here, I am definitely not saying that I don’t want to chime in and cut him off and tell him what to do and how he should do it.  I’m just saying that I am pretty dang conscious of how angry and frustrated I feel when other people do that to me, so I try not to do it to anyone else.  I’ve been angry and frustrated enough after fighting this daily battle against RSD for 20+ years without someone else trying to minimize what I feel by telling me that they know exactly how I feel or that they feel worse.  Everybody feels pain and everybody feels pain differently.  Some of us have just have more experience coping with pain and are therefore better equipped to deal with others who are in pain.

For 15 minutes he vented and I listened. Just getting stuff off of his chest was all that he needed to clear his head and devise a logical plan of attack. I complimented him on being able to sort things out before reacting this time and reminded him that he was doing the right thing.  He looked over at me, sighed, smiled, and said, “Thanks, Jenn.“  And just as abruptly as Houdini had appeared, he vanished, but he left with his head and shoulders held a little higher and there was even some determination in his step.  I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to the freshly tilled flower bed before me.  

I have 6 snapdragons and 1 lily making their yearly comebacks.  Perennials just seem to bring me comfort.  I love that they remind me of a phoenix rising from it’s own ashes.  I love that I can arrange smaller annuals around them to accessorize their statuesque beauty every year, and I love that I can change up the accessories if I‘m feeling the need for something a little different.  I love that I have finally gotten over my chronic case of Black Thumb and, despite my chronic case of RSD, I can get down on the ground, dig in the dirt, and make pretty things grow and blossom.  I let my mind drift to my barren back yard and the plans I have for creating a pallet garden haven as well as where I should place the veggies that I had started from seeds and were now big and green and ready to be planted outside so that they can produce healthy food for my tummy.    

And then it hit me … If you sow it, it will grow.  If you nurture it, it will flourish.  If you give it space to take root, it will blossom.  If you throw it out there without watering it or giving it sunlight or removing the weeds, it will die.  And, if you can’t tell, I’m not just talking about plants anymore.

Planting seeds of vegetation and planting seeds of hope aren’t all that different, and in some cases, those seeds are the difference between survival and defeat.  My opinion is that most people fall short during the germination process.  Anyone can put one seed in the dirt just as easily as anyone can offer one kind word or one compliment.  But then what?  Most people turn and walk away thinking that they’ve made their point and done their part by planting that one seed.  And then it’s “out of sight, out of mind.”  But to the person that depends on that seed for their very survival, it’s never out of sight, nor is it ever out of mind.  Stomachs grumble with hunger and briefly elated souls crumble and darken with despair, both causing added physical pain.  

But … If someone were to take the time to tend to that seed giving it the nutrients and encouragement that it needs to sprout, the warmth and space that it needs to take root, the light and love that it needs to grow, and the continuous support that it needs to bear fruit, then that someone would be the one that would be able to enjoy and savor what is produced, whether it’s a watermelon, a bell pepper, or a genuine smile or laugh.  

I have faith that I have been that someone in the lives of a few of the people you’ve read about on this blog, and I have faith that I will continue to nurture the seeds of hope that I have planted within them.  If I can be that someone for them and they, in time and in turn, can be that someone for another person in pain, then I can say that I planted a perennial of hope that will be around to bloom for years to come.