Bonita Nussbaum

Paper 3 - MY GARDEN

        I spent the day working in my flower garden.  I probably should have spent the time cleaning the house or working on a paper for school, but I was pulled to that space by an irresistible desire to get in touch with myself again.  Funny how that works.

        I know my mother smiles when I talk about my flowers. When I was young, you couldn’t pay me to spend time in the hot sun weeding, planting, and watering.  My mother’s flower beds were close to perfect, not a weed in sight, perfect edges, and few dead blossoms. To her credit, she never forced me to help tend them, although she would heave those heavy sighs filled with all the guilt of generations of children whose mothers thought they were lazy or inconsiderate.

        My flower garden is not perfect, but it is fairly well kept. It is filled with color, sometimes in hues of pinks and purples, sometimes bursting with orange, yellow, and red.  There are wild flowers that come up in different spots every year and perennials that are constant.  There are annuals that provide color when the garden cycles hit a lull, herbs that provide aroma therapy, and bushes that fill the sky with tall blooms easy for butterflies and birds to land, safely out of reach of the cats.

            The sun is getting warmer.  Oregon doesn’t have the humidity and heat that I grew up with in Indiana.  The sky overhead is crystal blue, unlike the hazy, grayish blue skies of a Midwest summer. I once again pat myself on the back at having chosen the perfect place to live.  As I work, I begin to think about how life is like my garden, full of different varieties and colors of people. Some stand like my sunflowers, tall and erect, needing little help to survive.  Others are like penstemon, needing support to stand and good soil to thrive. California poppies, choke out the competition while alyssum gently spreads around, providing protection from the heat, keeping the soil from running away with the rain.

            Like flowers, people need nurturing. Few can survive without it. Fertilizers and plant food need to be chosen with care so that the nutrients lacking in the soils are supplied.  Flowers need to be watered so they don’t wilt and become dehydrated. The lack of water becomes a major issue where only the fittest survive. The soil in which flowers live must be cultivated to create a soft environment where seeds can concentrate on growing rather than struggling to break through hard surfaces. People growing up in poverty, fighting for their very existence in areas where violence threatens them at every turn, need gardeners who are willing to cultivate the soil to rid it of indifference, softening the pathway to success.

            Good gardeners need to control the weeds lest they choke out the plants and spread their seeds. Society needs to become better gardeners, taking a stand against those things that threaten people’s lives and their dreams. It’s not just the weeds of violence or greed that chokes out many Americans.  Religious righteousness, patriotism that does not allow dissent, discrimination against those who are different than you, are all weeds that must be controlled before they destroy those ideas that make this country free.

            The sun is getting hotter. I think about going inside.  One of the nice things about getting older is the sudden realization that you are your own boss, and you really don’t have to place unnecessary stress on yourself.  So I collect my tools, rake up my weeds, and set the water.  I will visit my flowers again, caring for them a little at a time, knowing that eventually, they will all get what they need. 

            Sitting in the hanging chair on my porch, I survey with satisfaction my garden of flowers.  I think about how I am a gardener for my students, nurturing them with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, watering them with hot chocolate on a cold morning. Cultivating their minds loosens the hardness of their lives giving way to the softness of hope. Pulling the weeds that stand in the way of their success encourages their growth.

            It took me awhile to understand that if I wanted flowers I would have to put in the work, not having the money or the desire to hire a gardener. It took me awhile to decide I wanted to be a teacher, not having the money or the desire to become a lawyer. For me, the satisfaction I feel at the end of each day, knowing that I have tended my “flowers”, is what motivates me. Money, prestige, and fame come only for those master gardeners who can parlay their skill into the world of radio and television. Most gardeners spend their lives toiling in obscurity, happy with their work, and proud of the results.  So it is with me.