The notice arrived from the committee that keeps things running smoothly in our community garden that it was time to start thinking about cleaning up our plots and putting them to bed for the winter. That’s a hard message to take seriously when there are still tomatoes ripening on these near 70-degree days and a hard frost feels still a month away, but climate change or not, the number of daylight hours is declining and everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion.
At this point in the year, I’ve often done a blog about the cycle of the year and how important it is, especially for city folks, a few steps too far removed from the natural world, to connect with it and with the imperatives it dictates – when to plant, when to harvest, when to water. This year though, I’m thinking about a different cycle, the one that represents the sweep of my whole life. Let me explain.
Every participant in our garden is assigned a 10X10 plot and is entitled to request a second one. A single plot never felt like enough for our ambitions, so we’ve always doubled up. That means a lot of work in early spring – uncovering the plot which has been resting under a heavy straw cover, turning the soil over to aerate it and to go after the weeds that lie in wait all winter to establish themselves and, finally to plant the seeds and seedlings that will compete with them for space and nutrients.
That’s a lot of work for two 85-year-old bodies. Every year the breaks get longer, especially during the step that requires serious digging and turning over the soil, which demands wielding a heavy tool called a mattock which was standard equipment for highway construction workers before heavy equipment displaced them. Rosellen has bowed out of this part of the work which is now too much for her compromised back. She rejoins me for planting and watering duties.
So, as this season ends, I have to do the impossible – project myself forward into next spring to anticipate how much my then 86-year-old body will be able to manage. Is it time to give up one of our two plots and accept more modest planting goals? Even more unthinkable, should we bring down the curtain on more than a half century of gardening across three states, recognizing that it’s gotten harder each year we’ve stayed in the game. That’s not quite true. This year went surprisingly smoothly, perhaps creating unrealistic expectations for future years.
The garden dilemma is representative of so many other aspects of our lives at this stage. It’s definitely a time of contraction. Walking is our favorite outdoor activity, but we’ve been going less often, and when we do go, our range has narrowed considerably. When we order food or household supplies at places like Costco, whose business relies on selling things in bulk, we ask ourselves, “Are we really going to live long enough to justify buying stuff in this quantity?”
Travel has always been an important part of our lives, but how far out can we plan trips, knowing that our physical ability to carry out the plan nine months from now is a huge unknown. Some may consider it unwise and others gutsy that we’ve planned a cruise to Norway in June. We’ve hedged our bets by surrounding our expenditure with all kinds of insurance in case we have to cancel. Even the form that our travel takes is a form of contraction. We’ve never traveled in groups. We’ve preferred moving independently, which allows more flexibility in our schedules. We don’t enjoy being herded around with a bunch of strangers. But the reality is that we need more help than we used to, and a cruise means being able to join in on only the activities that we feel are within our range.
We’re at a point where we must resign ourselves to ceding aspects of our pride-driven independence. Rosellen is becoming more comfortable with requesting a wheelchair at the airport. Getting pushed through O’Hare airport certainly makes you look and feel old, but it enables us to consider trips we might otherwise shy away from.
Let me be clear. This should not be read as a litany of complaints. It’s our new reality. And I feel deep gratitude for all that we are still able to do. We’re so aware that so many in our generation are already gone, while others are living with much more serious limitations than the ones I’ve described. The hunger for life and for new experience is still strong, perhaps even stronger than ever, knowing that our time is limited. We look forward to celebrating holidays with family and friends, even if it means cutting down on some of the elaborate food preparation. We’ve even begun defaulting to soup, salad and cornbread. No complaints yet. We eagerly anticipate watching the new seasons of the TV shows we love. We are grateful to be able to watch our granddaughter navigating her entry into young womanhood and to take vicarious pleasure in the unfolding chapters in the lives of our daughters and their husbands. Finally, we follow the maddening political events of our times and invest our passions in their outcomes, as if we will be around to deal with the consequences of our current actions.
Life is good. It’s different, diminished in some ways, but still full of nourishment for the heart and soul.
