From Grave to Garden
Ed. Note: I like to write letters. This is part of a series I’ll be sharing.
Dear Sharlene,
I recently heard someone say that everyone in 2015 who answered the question, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years” got the answer wrong. Every last person. Could not have been more wrong. And while 2020 has not been known for its hilarity, that made me laugh.
One of the few things that has kept me going this year is my garden.
You see, I am not a gardener. I’m not even an outdoors person. I’m allergic to pretty much everything. Grass, hay, trees, pollen, animals… if it’s fun and outside it will definitely send me straight to the Benadryl bottle. Which is why I’ve never gardened before, it seemed like a perfect recipe for disaster. That and I knew nothing about gardening.
But I had kept houseplants alive for a few years. (Peace Lilies and Snake Plants actually help my allergies!). So last fall in some bizarre moment of overconfidence and a delusion of being the type of person you see on Instagram in a sundress walking through flowers (as if), I found myself at the nursery buying bulbs.
I had no business buying bulbs. I didn’t know anything about bulbs. I had to google how to plant them and what to do. But armed with bags of soil and fertilizer I got during an end of season London Drugs sale I made a chart, and I started digging up the yard. Having read that I needed to plant them so many inches apart I dug myself a perfect rectangle. And into the cold October ground, with night quickly approaching, I finished planting my final bulb.
When morning came the next day my parents were hysterical. There was my well intentioned flower bed, a perfect 4 x 10 foot rectangle, carefully placed next to our lilac trees, filled with fresh soil.
“It looks like a grave.”
They were right. Somehow the plan in my head of riotous colour, had taken on a rather unexpected look. All winter long the jokes continued. And when winter turned to spring, I started to get a bit nervous. Nothing was happening. The grass turned green, and the trees started to bud, but my little plot was dormant.
Then one morning the crocuses popped up. And after that most of the daffodils I planted reared their giant heads. One by one the tulips arrived. Pink Mistress, Blue Beauty, Wildhof, Michael, and a line of 15 Canadian Liberators (the Dutch gifted Canada with a special tulip to mark the 75th anniversary of Canadians helping to liberate Europe). The grave had become a rainbow.
The garden has brought me great comfort this year. (And surprisingly zero allergy attacks!) I thought it might give you some happiness as well, so I’ve made you a poster with some of my favourite photos.
Be well,
Katherine
