I do not have a green thumb. And I am not a gardener.
I think the only true gardener I have ever known is my beloved sister-in-law, Tamara. She and my brother live in Vancouver and I absolutely love to visit them in the summer because we get to enjoy the delicious bounty of Tamara’s hard work and sincere love of the earth. It is so cute the way she will send one of the kids out to pick cherry tomatoes or dig up potatoes or harvest green beans for dinner.
And, freshly grown food is so delicious that it almost defies description.
I do, however, love flowers and enjoy a little bit of weeding and planting every so often. My all-time favourite flower is the rose. And, especially, the soft pink ones.
We moved into this house a year ago this month. I was delighted last summer to discover that, with absolutely no effort on my part, we had roses. And, not just any old roses, we had pink roses with a heavenly scent! Last summer I always kept a single rose on the dining room table in a beautiful little crystal bud vase.
What I did not know, until this past Saturday night, is how our beautiful roses actually came to be.
The party we were at last Saturday night was also attended by a couple who used to live next door to our house. And so, over a glass of red wine, I had the privilege of hearing a little bit of history of our house.
This house was owned by an old Lithuanian couple, and the husband, Vic, was an avid gardener and a lover of roses. Apparently, he used to spend hours upon hours tending his beloved roses and, when his wife became to ill to join him in the garden, he would set up a chair for her so that she could watch him at work. Apparently, everyone in the neighbourhood knew Vic for his roses and, on Monday morning, my friend sent me an adorable picture of his young son standing on a ladder helping Vic with some pruning.
After hearing about Vic and his roses on Saturday night, I decided that I needed to spend some time on Sunday tending to Vic’s legacy. So, with some heavy gardening gloves and long shears that I dug out of the garage, I ventured into the wonderful world of Vic’s roses. I cut back dead branches, cleared out fall leaves and carefully pruned.
And, as I did so, I felt a connection to the man who came here before me and left such a perfectly beautiful gift.
I find it extraordinary to think that there are things that I am ‘planting‘ in my life that I will never truly understand the impact of. And connections that I am making with people that I will never meet in this lifetime.
We all leave a legacy of some kind behind us. Isn’t it amazing to think that Vic’s legacy of beauty will return every spring and thrive each and every summer?