Earlier I compiled a list of the 20 Frank Sinatra songs I've been listening to most over the past year. It was one year ago this week that I began driving to the Lawrence Township community garden every day to start my plot, knowing I'd be leaving it after 3 months. I listened to these songs on the way there and back, up that old road in that old town, trying to collect joy in reserve for later.
A year ago minus a couple days, my friend died. I was enriching soil and planting seeds and mourning her loss at the same time. At some point, I was gardening for her, for me. You know? It made a difference. The year before, my first community garden experience was a huge success. Beautiful and bountiful. There are photos on my flickr pages, linked to here. This time I wasn't going to see it finished, and I knew that going in. But I had to get it going anyway. I worked every morning, listening to music through my headphones, willing it all to come to life before I had to leave it behind. creating beauty through loss. Energy transference.
It did get going, of course, but then late July and August saw astounding record rainfalls there, so I suppose it all ended up underwater. I bet the flowers came out all right.
Here where I am now, a year later, I have more space, more money, more everything I lacked before. But no ancient road to travel, no friend down the block, no sense of the pulling of the ocean tide.
I still have Frank.
And I have little lettuces and onions and leeks and tomatoes and peppers and lots and lots of flowers, too.
You have to honor life, and the passing of it, by really using the energy you're given in the best way you can. Feeding the senses, feeding the soul.