They say grief is a garden that grows wild if you let it. For twenty years, since my mother Janet—or “Janzy” to those who loved her—passed away, her gardens have been doing exactly that. While the world moved on, the woods slowly reclaimed her work. My father had no time for the weeding or upkeep, so the perennials were left to fend for themselves against a rising tide of neglect.
Continue the journey with us. I’m planning ahead. I’m planning the fun part. The part where the weeds are gone, the saplings have been removed and the soil has been made anew. We will have replanted my mom’s original flowers, and lots of space will remain as a blank canvas, waiting to be painted. It’s hard not to. I don’t really want to think about all the work that it will take to get us to a blank canvas, but rather focus on the flip side…the motivational side.
Why Did We Choose to Rehabilitate My Mother’s Gardens?
Paul and I aren’t Spring chickens. But we aren’t old either. So why have we decided to take on such a big undertaking?
I miss my mother, Janet. She was an avid gardener. She loved to create beautiful spaces for people to look at both inside and out.