As far back as I can remember, grandma Adele’s garden was always inviting and picture perfect through the eyes of a child, yet now that I reflect on it, who tended her garden?
When my mom was in the hospital, I spent many of my pre-school years at my grandmother’s home. As you approached the front porch, snowball bushes gathered ‘round to welcome you to sit a spell and bask in nature’s presence. Between the houses, where the sun rarely shined, grew lilies of the valley and hydrangeas treated with grandma’s coffee grounds that gave them a special color all their own. In the back yard, were rose bushes, abundant in varieties and colors, along its west edges to frame the yard without a fence. In a smaller area, strawberries sprouted up within a natural rock garden around a tree, while along the east fence irises of many different hues caught your eye as well.
Yet I truly don’t remember seeing grandma working hard in her garden. I do remember seeing her clipping flowers for the tables in her home. She must have tended her garden though, maybe in those early hours when I was still asleep. I don’t recall her even complaining about how much work it was, or all the time it took to keep up with it, as I might have heard another neighbor lady reporting. In reality, I guess my aunts helped from time to time so they probably deserve some credit too, and I don’t remember complaints from them either.
Now that I think of it, grandma didn’t complain much of anything and that’s one important thing for me to remember. When you stop to think of it, it was a large part of her nature. I guess her garden was her labor of love as was so many other things she did without complaining, like cooking, sewing, washing and playing the piano. When we do things we love, it just flows effortless for us, even though to someone else it could resemble work. Grandma passed on some years ago in her late ninety’s, yet I find myself still benefiting from reflecting on the wisdom of her ways.
There are some today who might look at something I do as work and insist I take money as payment for it. Well maybe that’s why it’s so hard for me to explain why I don’t feel comfortable taking money for some of the things I do to contribute to others. You see, where I see it as a labor of love, I already feel as though I’ve received my “just dues” for helping, with that good feeling I have when it’s all done. I find that sometimes it’s hard to put a price to it, and I don’t want to, for doing so could begin to diminish its true value that it holds for me.
Thank you Source for allowing me to be a contribution to those I serve; and the ability to see the richness.