A GARDEN FULL OF MEMORIALS

         Memorial Day is just around the corner, but it’s not likely there will be any big parties or BBQs or any kind of celebratory gatherings. Just another example of how this coronavirus pandemic has changed our way of doing things. At least I don’t have to make a trip to a cemetery to visit John. All I have to do is go into the back yard and sit in a chair under the apple tree.

          This holiday and the fact John is under the apple tree with all the pets has made me wonder about my decision to sell the house. I’d intended to do that this summer until the pandemic changed my plans. Now, I’m wondering if that’s such a good decision. There are so many memories I’d be leaving behind and not just memories of John.

          Looking out the window, I can see John’s grandmother’s grape vine which has gone absolutely crazy in the last few years. It looks as though it plans to take over the entire greenbelt behind the fence. It’s only the last few years that the grapes have gotten big enough to actually enjoy. Haley picked buckets full a couple of years ago and I made grape jelly…won’t be doing that again. Still, I always think of Grandma Ebba and our times with her when I see the grapevine.

          There’s my Great Aunt Lola’s fuchsia. She’s been gone for a very long time, but her fuchsia grows and blooms every single year. She also gave me a pampas grass start, but I managed to kill it in the process of finding just the right spot in the garden. I moved it once too often. Auntie Lola’s also the woman who taught me to make pickles and can beans. My reminders of her would continue when it came to making pickles, but I’d miss the fuchsia.

          The tulip tree is past is blooming prime now, but it was a gift in honor of my mother after she passed away. I love the way it’s branches form and make it look like a giant candelabra when it blossoms in the spring. There’s also the pink dogwood, John’s sister gifted after my mom died…that’s in the front yard. And, yes, I’d still think of my mom without those living reminders, but I’d miss their beautiful glory in the spring.

          I cannot forget the apple tree. John and a neighbor saved it decades ago. It was so loaded with baby apples and grew leaning toward the west, that it fell over. I opened the garage door to hang laundry on my clothesline only to be faced with a wall of green. I called John at work and he told me to cover the roots. I did, and that evening he and a neighbor used a chain fall and a tree behind the fence to hoist it back into place. He shimmed it up with three four-by-fours until it was strong enough to stand on its own. We had dozens of apple pies and jars of applesauce from that tree. True, it hasn’t produced much in the recent past, but I can always hope.

          The lilacs in both the back yard and front came from either John’s mother or his sister or maybe both. They are my favorite smelly shrub and I love to bring a bouquet into the house when they bloom. There wasn’t much on the ones in back this year because they were pretty heavily pruned last fall. Next spring, they should be glorious.

          If I moved someplace else, I couldn’t replace the little water feature I built in the garden. I knew exactly what I wanted and John told me it would never work. I dug the hole, lined it with plastic, covered that with rocks and positioned the huge concrete birdbath John had given me at the edge. Being the good sport he was, he went ahead and made the piping I needed to get the water from the little pond up to the birdbath. When I placed it, I’d fixed it so it was tipping toward the water, the idea being the water could cascade over the edge and into the pond, making a nice water noise.

          Well, John was right, it didn’t work, but not for the reasons he gave. The water went up the pipe and into the birdbath, but instead of cascading into the pond, it simply ran over the edge and continued to flow down the outside of the birdbath and onto the supporting column…no water noise at all. To make it work, the birdbath would have had to be at such an angle, it would have fallen over. John was right about that part. He did help me figure out what I needed to do in the way of a small pump that sends water arcing from the edge to the center and provides the soothing noise I wanted.

          In the front yard, there are two trees. One is a spruce that was the live Christmas tree of the folks who lived in the house before us. It wasn’t that big when we moved in, but now it towers over the neighborhood. One winter, it snowed a lot and the power went down. That tree was strung with big Christmas lights. John ran a cord from the generator to the tree. We had neighbors calling to find out why we had power and they didn’t…very funny.

Spruce & pink dogwood

          The other tree is a red oak. It was given to me decades ago by someone who hasn’t been a friend in decades as well…and not because of the tree. Anyway, it had lived in a five-gallon bucket forever. I took it out and planted it in the corner with no idea of how big it would really become. For several years it did nothing, just sat there and John wanted to pull it out. I made him leave it and now, I have this HUGE red maple that I’m a little sorry I ever planted. The one year I did all the leaf control myself, I had like three yard-waste bins and seven of those beige yard waste bags full of leaves…what a CHORE.

          Then, there’s the companies that go out and prune big trees like the red maple for Seattle City Light. I’ve always tried to be home when they do this so I can sort of supervise and make sure they don’t absolutely butcher the tree. Sometimes the company folks were agreeable and helpful and other times…like the last time…not so much. I think come this fall I’m going to need to have my garden care person prune the side the last company didn’t touch…it’s very lopsided. I don’t think I’d miss the red maple at all, and probably not the spruce either were I to leave.  Who knows, maybe whoever came to live here would eliminate both of them.

          Of course, the most important thing I'd be leaving is John. He's beneath that apple tree where I can sit and talk to him. I do have the glass ball AJ had made from some of his ashes, so unlike all the trees and shrubs, I would take him with me wherever I went.

         They say…whoever they are…you shouldn’t make any big decisions until at least a year after your spouse dies. Maybe the pandemic is making sure I didn’t rush anything. Maybe the shelter-in-place order is insuring I do take the time to evaluate what I want to do next. I guess, based on what I’ve typed here, I’d be leaving more than just an empty house were I to move.