Starting
Point The
wonder of growing things
By LOIS SPEAR
We planted our gardens late this
year. It couldnt be helped. The men who tend the grounds at the Adrian
Dominican motherhouse were swamped with work. After they plowed the garden,
located beside the old laundry, two sisters divided it into small plots so any
sister who wanted a garden could have one.
The gardens are planted now. My plot holds 12 tomato plants in
their sturdy cages and three small rows of pole beans. The beans seem to grow
an inch each night. They will soon outgrow the small bamboo poles set out for
them. At each summers end I vow this will be my last garden. At 81,
planting and harvesting cause my bones to ache. My back hurts. Its hard
to stand up after kneeling to plant seeds.
Yet each year when the weather turns warm, I dream of a garden. I
am lured by the feel of the good earth running through my fingers, the
opportunity to share in the mystery of creation.
The garden has become a place of refuge. When I grieve over the
terrible scandals in the church, suffer with the homeless because of our war on
terrorism, or share the misery of countless people dying of starvation in
Africa, I take consolation in the garden.
My neighbors gardens are also faring well. To the left of
me, two sisters who work full-time at the motherhouse have planted a rich
variety: zucchini, carrots, cucumbers and tomatoes. To my right is
Elizabeths garden. She started her tomatoes from seeds planted in pots on
her windowsill. Maria has a tiny plot near mine. Although she is legally blind,
she still works in her garden. It reminds her of her childhood in Italy.
The only time I can remember when the peace of the garden was
disrupted was when Maria scolded me for planting my tomatoes too close to the
border separating our two plots. She threatened to cut off the vines that
overhung her plot, but never carried out the threat. How could a gardener ever
destroy a plant?
Maria liked to visit the garden and reflect on the wonder of
growing things. She went to her garden at least once a day. If someone joined
her, she would call out, Who are you? After Mass one Sunday last
month, Maria went to her garden as usual. Several hours later, Sr. Marilyn
found her lying on the ground, victim of a stroke. She lingered overnight in
the hospital and died the following day. At her funeral liturgy, the homilist
said, If there is a garden in heaven, Maria will surely be
there.
Marias death adds a new texture to my garden visits.
Its no longer merely a refuge from the ugliness of the days news.
Its a place to experience not only burgeoning life and growth but also
the mystery of death. Like gardens at the end of summer, our bodies with their
rich gifts will one day wither and die. Yet death, like the unending cycle of
growth and decline, carries the promise of a new spring. We will rise again.
Rest in peace, Maria.
Retired Adrian Dominican Sr. Lois Spear is the author of
God Is With You: Prayers for Men in Prison (St. Anthony Messenger
Press).
National Catholic Reporter, July 19,
2002
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