The Rhythms of Widowhood
Flower Garden Fiasco
Betty Auchard
Betty Auchard is the author of Dancing in My Nightgown: the rhythms of widowhood 
www.dancinginmynightgown.com.
The garden beckoned, and the warm days reminded me hydrant at the top of the street.
that two seasons had passed since I last touched my plants. While on my hands and knees, I was struggling to
I've ignored the roses, hydrangeas, and pansies and stayed remove another small boulder when I heard the sound of
inside to write away my pain. I forgot the joy of planting, gushing water. I looked up and was shocked to see a small
but then I remembered that I loved grooming old plants wave washing down the gutter straight at me. I jumped up
and pampering new ones. My garden flourished two to avoid getting wet before I realized how fast it was
springs ago when I lived all day in blue jeans and sweat. It coming. Then I remembered my six one-gallon cans of
felt so good to get my hands dirty and pull weeds again in penstemon in the gutter along with my phone in its flimsy
the loamy, wormy soil. paper bag.
For the second week in a row, I got up before the sun to In an instant, the torrent of water claimed all seven
work on my new flower garden near the street. It promised containers, and they flew past me. The plants jockeyed for
to be a glorious site if it ever got planted. First I needed to first position in this wet race toward the bottom of the hill.
dig deep holes and remove large rocks. Then I would Tall penstemon was in the lead, with short penstemon in
amend the gooey clay soil with gypsum and compost. second place, and phone-in-bag in third. The remaining
I had purchased $350 worth of plants and soil four plants bobbed and wobbled at an incredible speed,
amendments the week before, thinking I would pop trying to catch up. I had never seen one-gallon plants go
everything into the ground in one day. Little did I know it that fast.
would take three weeks before my beautiful flowers could Why in the world I yelled, "HOLD IT!" I'll never know.
set their hairy feet in soil. I hadn't expected my flower Maybe I thought the plants would obey me and stop in
garden to be so much work! I struggled with two tasks: (1) their tracks. I ran as fast as a mature person could go,
to keep the one-gallon containers moist in a shady place grabbed the handles of phone-in-bag first, and tossed it
while I prepared the ground for planting and (2) to keep onto my neighbor's lawn just in time to see the bottom of
my spirits up. Both were labor intensive, but necessary the sack break and my wet phone land on the grass. I
before anything pretty could bloom. continued to splash awkwardly in and out of the fast-
I became the curiosity of the neighborhood. Joggers moving water like an out-of-shape banshee, grabbing each
stopped and asked why it was taking so long. Jokingly, I gallon can of penstemon by the rim and tossing it out of the
replied, "Because you're not helping me dig." Drivers deluge of water. Miraculously, the plants and I landed
slowed their cars and cautiously inquired, "Still at it?" My upright. My chest heaved, but I was more concerned about
answer was always the same. "Yep, still at it." Most people phone-out-of-bag than about the plants, so I slogged back
watched from a distance after the first week. up the hill and retrieved it first.
What kept me going was my vision of sweet baby's As I dried off the phone with the tail of my dirty T-shirt,
breath, dusty miller, feverfew, alstroemeria, statice, and one of the firemen sprinted to my aid. Apparently he had
penstemon in fluffy masses in front of my sun-bleached, heard me scream, "HOLD IT!" at the racing flowers. The
split-rail fence. The fragrant flowers and foliage would be closer he got the more anxious he looked. "Are you all
dotted with white, silvery gray, lime green, pink, and right?" he panted. "We didn't expect anyone on the street
purple. I didn't know until later that none of those flowers this early. We should have looked before letting the dam
had any fragrance at all. break."
Very early one morning during the second week of He asked, "What can I do to help?" I considered asking
work, I assembled my rake, shovel, plants, and kneepads. him to dig the rest of the holes for me, but I lost my nerve.
I placed my portable phone in a padded paper bag with Instead, I said, "If you could collect my runaway plants
handles so I could relocate it as I moved along the wide and bring them back alive, I would surely appreciate it."
planting bed. In the street gutter I set six one-gallon cans As he went to their rescue, I took a few minutes to catch
of tall, graceful penstemon plants. my breath and pull myself together. It was not the time to
I proceeded to dig more deep holes and remove huge lose my cool. I still had lots of work ahead of me. The
rocks each time my shovel clanged against them. The fireman clutched the six wayward plants in both hands as
neighborhood was quiet except for the sound of my shovel he trudged toward me and asked innocently, "Where
when it hit stone and the laughter of three men at the top of would you like me to put these?"
the hill. They wore dark uniforms, and their fire engine I paused for a moment then replied, "Anywhere but the
was parked nearby. They were preoccupied with the gutter. 
GO GREEN - read Today s Senior Magazine online at www.TodaysSeniorMagazine.com 37 Today s Senior Magazine does not endorse copy of contents of articles, editorials or ads
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