It’s a great time for comfort gardening. We’re a scared nation, a frightened world. Valiant workers strive and sacrifice to care, contain, and we pray, cure.
Just to be clear, God will do that, not us. His grace reigns sovereign, and His grace rains science. There’s no watering of this earth, no waning of its plagues, without grace. We can never say we did it, whether we’re talking about curbing or curing viruses.
God will do that
Meantime, we grieve. We’ve lost so many. To add to it, we’ve lost the traditional spaces carved out for the work of sorrow. For example, here in WNY, we can’t gather to mourn the loss of a beloved and courageous gentleman evangelist, Wes Aarum Sr., whose Circle C Ranch still impacts thousands for Jesus.
Or, think of an elderly grandma. Normally aunts and uncles and grandkids would fly in from east and west. Time for remembering. Hugging. Pictures spread on the floor. PowerPoint shows, posters. Decisions made as eyes lock together. Who wants her soup pot? Will someone please take the old china? What shall we do with that quirky corner cabinet? The togetherness of it all frames the old stories with continuity and certainty that, after all, we still have each other. And it helps.
But these are new times when gatherings together are not the best way to love. And so we need place and space to mourn. Comfort gardening?
Gardening is not for the faint of heart. Growing roses especially takes guts and persistence. But roses grow on balcony pots as well as in a garden, and since tough times call for tough measures, why not? It’s a good time to put valiant effort into something new.
Consider whether this idea can take root for you. For every loss, plant a rose. The work that roses require, and they take a lot, are part of the idea.
the yellow climber that motivated my rose garden
If anyone ever persisted in gardening, it was my gentle father. A sweet man who, thanks to the disrespect that grew in students over the decades he taught school, ended his teaching career early. It was a blow, but he bounced back as a professional gardener. Not that he hadn’t gardened all along. I remember his face dripping sweat every summer day, in some or other farm or garden.
When they moved to a senior’s complex, I fretted that Dad’s gardening days were over. Not so. First he planted a yellow climber beside a brick wall. A quarter century later, that baby still blooms. Then he asked the owners of vacant land across the road for space to plant a community garden. He’s been gone a decade, but his yellow roses still bloom and his community garden still grows.
Those yellow roses hold comfort. Just wait til you hear the story. For two months, while his wife lay paralyzed by a stroke that would prove fatal, that nearly-ninety year old lover, every day, shaved and showered and put on his best suit, then went outside to pick a rose. Rose in one hand, hat in the other. he stood at the door, patiently waiting, until one of his three daughters arrived to whisk him to visit the “best wife a man ever had.” (His words.)
And when she was gone, so was he. Cause? A beautiful broken heart.
Ever since, whenever my husband asks what I’d like as a gift, of course, roses.
so, a comfort garden
I began with two yellow Sparkle n Shine.
The first summer, bugs ate every leaf. I thought it was game over, except I got serious about proper rose care. That means feeding them well in spring and summer, dealing early with disease (preferably before it hits), and ridding bushes of destructive bugs. A bit high maintenance, I know, but worth it! If you’re anywhere near Buffalo NY, stop by Lavocat’s Family Greenhouse and Nursery. You can buy your rose care products, and add a little magic to your day.
Currently, our rose garden holds over two dozen bushes. Issues rise up – stem cankers, black rot, aphids, powdery mildew, you-name-it. Growing roses isn’t for the faint of heart. But the problems are part of the journey, a challenge to meet head on, and a little extra chance to remember.
Comfort gardening can give us space to mourn, place to pray. Remind us to give gratitude to God, the Real Gardener.
Leave a Reply