Last spring a beautiful flower garden, planted by an anonymous woman, appeared at the base of one of my favorite hiking trails, next to the big parking lot. For several months, perennials were added on a regular basis; a notebook with a waterproof cover was left on a stone for hikers to add our thoughts, with the suggestion that we empty our water containers on the flowers at the end of our hikes. The comments accumulating in the notebook were inspiring, and the flowers grew and flourished.
A few weeks ago, a monster rain swept through the parking lot and wiped out most of the flowers, leaving an expanse of mud. The notebook disappeared, and there was no attempt, on anyone’s part, to replant what had been destroyed. It seemed that the garden so many of us had enjoyed was finished.
We’ve continued to have rain, gentle at times, and when I returned from my three-week vacation, I discovered that the garden had regenerated. Not everything came back, but enough re-sprouted to create a rich border against the fence.
I take hope from this miracle. Perhaps even the natural cycles we have abused to such a great degree have an innate strength and will to survive not only human depredations but the disorders of our disordered climate—to survive, and even to flourish.
Lovely. I like the word, “flourish,” that ends this piece. It feels good in the mouth and ends with a pucker of the lips.
i have a firmly entrenched belief that though not all things will continue as we have been accustomed to them, there will be a continuation. I look forward to, hopefully, to watching as it happens…
I experienced the same thing to a lesser or greater degree. My two and a half acre garden that perished in the Malibu wildfire of 93 that took 400 houses, ours among them, has come back to some degree. Not enough, but some, Enough to be comforting. I thought I was creating something for all time. The more fool we. But still.
Hi Sallie – Thanks for the use of your house recently! Friend of Teatro Paraguas and Nadine.