I’m eating a sandwich with a buttery lettuce from our garden while sizing up the tiger lilies along the front of our house. With bulbs maybe 60 years old, strong and many-bloomed, they stand up to my shoulders. Urges in me want to cut at the thick stems to bring that shouting orange into my kitchen, but I don’t do it. If I cut for one bloom, many others would be wasted, and I can see them peak over my window seal in my living room, a few of their clothes worn out, but mostly, they’ve an open closet-full ready to wear.
I think about my Mamaw today. She loved the outside. She loved to plant tiger lilies. Lawnmowers keep to their business, and my yard smells like weeds and clover. Ashes from the honey suckle in the burn barrel waft toward me.
I can’t tell if the markings in the concrete next to the little fish pond say “HAINES 1967” or “HAINES 1987.” The water lilies have taken over and bloomed yellow and pink. The tadpoles underneath will turn into giant frogs. They bubble up and make the water look like a boil. The fish are the ones Grandma had kept in a tank in the living room. When she wanted new ones, she released the old into the pond. The great grandfishies swim now, I suppose.
My small boys won’t stay out of the green water. They obsess over the circle of life. I do, too. They fall in or rebelliously dive in, so we’re going to fill the pond up with soil and make the past a nice fertilizer for an herb/flower garden.
Sometimes we reap what we do not sew. Sometimes it is right to linger and grow limp with awe at the things we’ve been handed, and sometimes the right thing to do is dig up and throw out, fill in and start over.
basil, thyme, dill, sage, oregano, lavender, rosemary, parsley, roses, peonies, tiger lilies
blessings on a future generation