by Geneie Everett
The last few months have been hard in our household. In addition to the world’s stress, climate change, politics, and personal health issues, we’ve also said goodbye to four old and dear close friends. I’ve not felt well, but the sadness and grief make pain worse. The bleak gloomy winter has not been helpful and the long dark dreary days invite depression.
What is helpful to me is my garden. It ‘restores’ me. Being from the desert, I deeply long for the sun and warm full days, but it’s still the dead of winter and the light is just starting to change—except in my little inside garden that keeps life and beauty within my sight and grasp. Gazing out the window onto my forlorn yard is more hopeful when looking through a dazzling red geranium in the foreground. Watching for anything marking spring renewal, I notice the forsythia bark is turning. Dare I try to force their blooms so early? I do and after only four days, the swelling buds start showing color. Another two days and several buds are open. Now I have yellow and red and the gloom feels lighter.
Wanting a cup of tea, I remember my lemon grass plant. Cutting and crushing the long slender leaves, fills the air with lemony aroma and sipping the hot citrusy beverage fills me with memories of sorting through the stalks in a Canadian Asian market that I hoped might root into a plant. Since then, my lemon grass has grown well and been divided and shared with several other gardeners. During the summer when it’s on full grow, I trim it back and tie the long leaves into knots that I dry for throwing into the tea pot. I like to mix it with mint and gingko leaves that we also grow and harvest.
Feeling calmer inside, my attention flits to a red cardinal outside on the feeder. A flock of about a dozen robins fly into the magnolia tree. One flies and lands on a statue of St. Francis that lived in my mother’s rose garden for 30-plus years. She loved robins and my sisters tell me that mom is visiting when a bird stops by for a quick hello. It feels nice to have her close though I did not inherit her gift in growing roses. I did inherit the saint who serves as a connection to her and my grandfather ... and nature.
Quite suddenly, I realize a change in mood, a brighter feeling inside, less heaviness around my heart, and even less pain. Being a nurse and knowing the research, I also know my blood pressure is down, my heart rate lower and my muscles are less tense. How did that happen? Something felt literally changed in my mind, my body and in my spirit. Something had connected me to feelings other than my sadness, depression and my physical discomfort. I had, in a very concrete way, shifted my internal state by connecting to a variety of aspects of my garden. I had ‘restored’ a sense of internal balance that allowed for broader perspective and more possibilities.
My mindless staring out the window was jarred into current time when I noticed the red of the geranium and felt my interest rise in its bright audacity. I felt stimulated by its color. And wanting more color stimulated interest and action to force the forsythia blooms that brought more hope and optimistic anticipation.
Making and sipping a cup of tea slowed my awareness into a contemplation that flowed into more positive connections. That cup of tea had connected me to smells that reminded me of where I had learned about lemon grass as tea and the sweet woman who told me how to root the bare stalks. It connected me to the uplifting taste of citrus. The honey I added brought my grandfather’s presence and memories of beekeeping at his side. The memory of bees is full of sweet tastes, buzzy sounds, and the smells of wax and his smoker used to calm them.
Watching a red bird, connected me to Nature and her mysteries led to seeing more. Noting another bird’s landing on a special piece of art connected me to my family and our long history of gardening. Almost everything I know about gardening I learned from my grandfather. Thinking of him fills me with deep gratitude.
My garden stimulated and awakened my senses, inspired my interest, motivated action and connected me to something other than problems in the world and my own pain and sadness. I feel/felt ‘restored’ by experiencing the miracle of what can happen utilizing the design concepts of Meditative, Sensory and Hospice Gardens—also known as Restorative Therapeutic Gardens.
Geneie Everett, PhD, RN is a member of the Garden Club of Wiscasset and Chairs the GCFM, Therapeutic Gardening Committee.
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