Swan Sanctuary

Today I am going to talk about something that most people don’t and won’t talk about. I am talking about death. A lot of people my age are having knee replacements and hip replacements. They have annual “wellness” checkups and regular screenings for cancer; and they have pill boxes filled with their daily dose of pharmaceuticals.They will admit that they are getting older, but they do not believe that they will one day die.

In our ever more complicated world, it is now advisable to put one’s “affairs in order.” Dying is our final investment in life regardless of how much money we did or did not make during our lifetime. There is legal jargon that I am only beginning to comprehend – like probate. For some reason, when a person dies, family members can be locked out of the deceased’s home and denied access to their estate for months, until the courts have decided where and to whom any of their earthly possessions will go. Simply making a handwritten will does not suffice. You must put your things into a “trust” and I am still trying to wrap my head around the difference between that, and a will. You must have a power of attorney, known as a POA, to manage your finances. You must have another POA to manage your medical directives should you become incapacitated. Their power only extends; however, until the moment of your actual death. After that you must have an executor to manage your affairs. Quite often, this also requires an attorney whose fees are astronomical. You must make plans for the disposal of your physical form, be it burial, cremation, or composting. These choices are all expensive and are usually paid for in advance, or by a life insurance company, but only if the deceased bothered to buy a policy.

Every state has different laws about whether or not you can be buried on your own land. Gone are the days when a loved one died, you simply dug a hole, dropped them in and went on with your own life. We now require death certificates to accompany our birth certificates, which are stashed away somewhere in someone else’s desk drawer. Presumably, the day will come when these documents which represent that we lived and died, will all be in digital format. This business of dying seems to me like a whole lot of trouble – nearly as much work as it was to be born. It would be far easier in my estimation, to be run over by an automobile, like a oppossum, and tossed to the side of the road for the vultures to dispose of.

Yesterday I was discussing possibilities for planting the hell strip in my corner lot. Depending on how I go about it, it could be a major undertaking since it will require removing the grass and weeds currently growing in the area. If it was a home that I owned, I would have covered it with black plastic weeks earlier, allowing the sun to bake the annual weed seeds and prevent the perennial weeds from growing. The grass would be quickly composted in this method, rendering the soil suitable for planting. This can also be accomplished using thick layers of cardboard. It breaks down quickly in the soil and draws earthworms to aerate and fertilize it. Using the premise of permaculture, it is a good choice because I would be recycling cardboard that might otherwise end up in landfills. Plastic, of course, is plastic, which we all know is bad for the environment, but it can be used over and over again for similar projects. The faster way to rid the strip of existing grass and weeds is with a spade, cutting out squares of grass one at a time. This is labor intensive and time consuming, but the grass that is removed can simply be turned upside down, exposing its roots to the sun and air, which helps it to break down and become soil. Whichever method is used, the soil will, more than likely, still need to be amended with compost and manure before planting in it. 

What have I got to lose by taking on this kind of project? I have asked myself this question before whenever it was to be for a property I did not personally own; but I never questioned my motivation at all if it was to be on my own property. That was when I was younger and stronger and I believed with all my heart that anything I did to improve a property, meant I was leaving the space more beautiful than I found it. I was also creating habitats and justified my hard work knowing that I was helping out wildlife. I believed that whomever lived there after I left it would appreciate it, and perhaps they would be gardeners, too. That is what I believed in the last place I rented here, before I went on my adventure to Arkansas. 

I had worked so hard on that property. I created four hügelkulture beds, in which I planted a polyculture of more than forty plants, many which I had started indoors from seed. I had the aid of the chickens I had raised from peeps because they helped to fertilize the soil and turn the compost for me. But, after I had moved out and returned to this town less than a year later, the landlord had rototilled the entire 30’ X 40’ space and replanted grass. I was heart sick.

Prior to having to sell my property in Virginia, I had done an enormous amount of work as well. I had created habitat around the pond for the swans and other water birds that came to visit. I had put in an asparagus bed and planted butterfly habitats. After I returned to Colorado, my former neighbor would call to tell me the new owners were tearing out plants that I had lovingly planted and nurtured. 

I have planted and had to leave far too many gardens. The cost of seeds, plants, soil amendments, and mulch has probably exceeded a few thousand dollars. I never kept track of the cost because I knew I was giving back to the earth. So what have I got to lose, by planting the hell strip surrounding this house? The physical tax on my body will be a deciding factor. Decades of bending, kneeling, walking, carrying, and digging has taken its toll. I move more slowly these days. I have a shorter span of endurance. Yes, I could lose more money, more time, and it could all be for nothing. The biggest loss; however, is the little piece of my soul that will be left behind; for in every garden I have ever made, a part of me has been left there.

The house that I am living in is quite small – less than 700 square feet. The yard; however, is large in comparison and has so much potential. Part of the reason for this is that it sits on a corner lot so that two sides are bordered with a strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street. There are many names for this strip – hell strip, boulevard, verge – depending on where you live. While these areas are owned by the local municipality, it is generally the homeowner who is responsible for mowing and maintaining it. Most of the time they are unkempt, useless spaces where foot traffic has compacted the soil. Not being a fan of grass, which offers nothing to wildlife, my mind is at work imagining the possibilities for this large waste of space.

The hell strips, apply named, are a problem area because they are sandwiched between the concrete sidewalk and the asphalt road, both which absorb a lot of heat. This makes it suitable for only the most heat and drought tolerant plants. Another problem is that during winter, snow plows often heap them with snow, along with debris from the street. Homeowners sprinkle salt and other snow melting chemicals on the sidewalks, that frequently get over sprayed onto the verge. When people water their lawns, they often neglect the already unsightly weedy strip. Passersby disrespectfully toss cigarette butts, gum, and trash onto the area, or they allow their dog to defecate there and do not bother to clean up after it.

The purpose for these grassy strips is so that at some future point in time, should the road need to be widened, the strip can be removed. So while imagining possibilities, I must take into account that anything I plant in the strips is subject to abuse. I am thinking of planting trees, to create a windbreak, since the grassy strips here are situated on the same sides as the prevailing winds. The streets are already wider than most, so I don’t see them being widened in the  foreseeable future. Perhaps MoonglowⓇ or Wichita BlueⓇ upright junipers interspersed with Russian sage shrubs would look lovely and provide privacy. I love the idea of fruit trees that could bestow their offerings to people walking past them on their daily walks. Possibly, I could fill the areas with expansive pumpkins, squash, or watermelons – enough for the entire neighborhood. I must bear in mind though, that this is a brutal climate. What the wind does not decimate, the hail from sudden torrential storms in summer, can bring instant death to a garden that has been lovingly tended for weeks or even months. Clearly, planting in the grassy strips is a high stakes gamble, but life itself is a risky undertaking. What have I got to lose? Read my answers in tomorrow’s blog.

A surprising and unexpected spike in temperatures occurred over the weekend. Having been imprisoned indoors for the past several months, I was biting at the bit to go outside and play in the dirt. My irresistible urge reminded me of the dog that I used to have. He could barely contain his excitement when he knew we were about to go for our walk. The moment that I began to put on my shoes, he was wide awake, tail wagging, and whining in anticipation. It got to the point where he could read my thoughts. I only had to think that I would get ready for our walk and somehow he knew and he would begin to follow me about the house.

I have learned from experience to take care of my regular duties before heading out to the garden, because the problem is that I do not know when to stop. Whenever I am gardening, it is the only thing that exists in my mind, at that moment. I am working, planning, enjoying, visualizing, and so engrossed in what I am doing that I forget to eat, forget to go to the bathroom, and mostly forget about everything outside of the garden. So I have learned to take care of what has to be taken care of before ever walking through the door, like making sure dishes are washed and dinner plans have been made, because once I walk back inside, I won’t have a drop of energy remaining. Although my back may be aching and my hands hurting, I am oblivious to their complaining until I have finally stopped. This is the reason that I have learned to practice self-restraint. While I could once work from morning until dusk, I no longer have that kind of stamina. I now have to set limits for  myself. I have to listen to my body. I have to work smarter, not harder. 

I took advantage of these past few warm days that we have had and began making a raised bed. Where once I would have pushed myself until it was done, I have learned to pace myself. I may have to practice these self imposed restrictions when it comes to the implementation of a garden, but my thoughts always turn to the garden, or at least to my houseplants, because that is what resonates with my heart. Gardening is where I connect with the joy that is inside of me and gardening allows me to experience a feeling of bliss. As I have tried to explain to others, I cannot NOT garden. Unlike my body, my thoughts do not require restraint as they journey from flower to flower, pollinating my ideas. My mind is as busy as a bee even when I cannot physically garden. The continual creativity going on in my mind is after all, where the garden begins.

That feeling of discontent and the desire to always have more has been the cause of so much suffering in the world. It is like a virus that has taken hold of many people and they do not even realize that they have become ill. They believe that acquiring more things, more wealth, a bigger house, a newer car, will make them happy. But, it rarely does for long. 

The man who owns the motel where I am working owns five motels. Every evening he calls, wanting to know why business is slow. If we get busy, which has happened on a few occasions, the glee in his voice can be heard over the phone line. When we get busy, he raises the prices even higher, knowing that those people who are desperate for a bed for the night, will gladly pay. This kind of avarice is growing and spreading among those who are already wealthy. They are not content that they have a nice home, a fine automobile, plenty of food, and financial security. When I rented the house that I am living in, the landlord whined to me because he had not made any money on the house that he had only partially renovated. A few weeks ago he raised the rent by $200 on another house that he owns, forcing the renter to move. I have heard similar stories where an owner suddenly decides to sell and the renter is given only 30 days notice to move. These people who are taking over the real estate market do not care about the people who live in the houses they own. They care only about their profit and often refuse to invest in the upkeep of them. I visualize the owner of the motel and those like him, sitting in their rooms at night counting their gold like King Midas. 

This is the real pandemic. It is a sickness that has run amok and the only thing that can stop its spread is a change in consciousness. The divide between the rich and the poor grows wider every day. The number of homeless people and children with no food to eat is getting bigger. The starving and the angry are driven to crime in order to feed their families, while the wealthy store up their gold for a future that has not arrived.

This pandemic, this growing greed that separates and divides people, is an infection of the worst kind. It produces a lingering congestion in the heart of hatred for our fellow man. It is highly contagious and the death rate is incalculable. The only cure is kindness.