worth it

Today I went outside on my continuing mission to get our yard cleaned up. We had some ice storms this past winter, not as bad as the year before, that left a lot of mess out there. We have about an acre, not much--but it is covered in huge trees. While I would never give them up, and miss the ones we've lost, they do make a big mess.

Some of them are shingle oaks (I don't know what their real name is, but that's what I've heard them called) that don't lose their leaves until Spring. Like me, they try to keep a tight hold on the previous summer and don't let go until they are convinced that the new Spring is finally here. So no matter how much clean-up is done in the Fall, there's always another round in the Spring.

I have a big-boy tool I bought for myself. It's called a Barracuda ~ and man, did I feel strong and independent when I bought something with such a macho name. And it sucks--leaves, I mean. So yesterday I raked leaves into small piles all over the yard, and today I vacuumed them into the grinder in that thing. And my back is killing me ~ but probably not as much as if I would have tried getting all those leaves into big trash bags.

And you know how when you're doing some mindless job your thoughts wander? Your brain goes on auto pilot and wanders freely around in all your memories and random thoughts? I like that sort of quiet thoughtful feeling you get then. So today, I started thinking about the seeds I planted this weekend, and somehow I wandered to the reasons I plant those certain ones every year. Sure, they grow well here, but I feel a much deeper connection to them than just that.

It's people. The people and memories I connect to just those flowers.

My father-in-law was a brusque, plain-spoken man who thought about half the people he met were fools; he did not suffer them gladly, and let them know it. He lived a Hemmingwayesque early life and was rough around the edges, but had fought his way from a poor childhood to a very comfortable life for his family. His soft spot, his family. Inside that gruff exterior was as tender a heart as you're ever likely to meet. I adored him.

And he loved me. Probably because he knew how I felt about his son, but still ~

I never had seen cleome, spider flower, until I knew him. It was his favorite flower. And now one of mine. I think of him every year when it comes up.

Each one of my favorites has a person behind it, I realized, breaking my back outside today. The bachelor buttons and petunias from my childhood home. Memories of summer nights catching fireflies and stopping to smell the petunias and Mother sitting on the porch watching. The bachelor buttons always, every year, next to the giant swing Daddy built for me.

The tulips because of my son, who saw some when he was little and thought they were so pretty. We planted them together when he was three, in front of the picket fence at our old house.

My sweet Nannie, who could have grown a plant from a 2 x 4, is responsible for the coleus in big pots everywhere. And the morning glories.

And wise Grandma gave me the garden plan. Her entire yard a wild profusion of flowers, back and front ~ mine is the same, just not the entire yard, though if left to my druthers I'd have it that way. It has no formal plan, and many of the flowers I grow 'walk' all around the garden. Coming up here one year and showing up there the next. I love them and have never been known to pull one out because it seems in the wrong place.

It's exactly where it is supposed to be.