Usually at this time of the year the garden is at the very
least dusted with snow, concealing the dead remnants of last years’ growth.
This year, the ravages of global warming are apparent in the erratic and
unpredictable weather. Early hard frost followed by milder than normal
temperature and late colour change in the leaves. Periodic light snow, touches
of frost and crinkly ice over puddles followed by days of warm rain. The last
of the pansies are stubbornly continuing to bloom deep into December, and I have
had some surprise late harvests of red lettuce, even a new one which grew right
on the back lawn in the grass, which puzzles me. The lettuce is a bitter
variety which I am the only one who seems to enjoy, more the pity for its
hardiness. Still, the majority of the garden looks muddy and sorry, with dead
stems and browning, rotting leaves exposed without the benefit of frosting or
white blankets.
The days are long and dark and damp. Relentless rain and
mist make the roads treacherous as we enter the holiday season. Not much joy
abounds. My father is still in hospital after three months, and with a release
date set for after New Years from rehab, a slow adjustment looms to a return
home with a roomful of new equipment and protocols, losses great and painful. A
long, hard winter ahead without promise of the joy of bounding through fresh
snow on skis, walks through the woods. Instead, one slow, unsteady step at a
time, with assistance and supervision. He will never again share in the produce
of my garden, future meals a formula from Nestle delivered through the most
direct of means. We find what joy we can in music, shared conversation,
precious time spent together. The ending of many things yet not of what is most
important, love, family, the joy of children.
At the time of the dying of the year, I have lost my best
and closest friend, partner and lover. He tore a piece of my soul out of me
when he walked away and left. Ripped a garden from my heart.
I end my year troubled and tired. My seed catalogues sit
unopened. I walk in silence beneath the heavy grey skies treading on rotting
leaves, and wonder if new life will return in the spring.
