Last Chance Idol Season 9, Week 1 - In The Garden
My backyard has a garden. At least, it did.
Once, this garden was beautiful. It was a place of life and growth. My little family worked in there together to grow foods that would make our children grow healthy and strong.
I love the preparation of tilling the earth, adding things to make it more fertile, planting the seedlings (or seeds). And even though I often have a short attention span and often get bored before the summer is over and the harvest is done - my husband would take up the chores and finish out the year. Most of the harvest was done by his two hands, not mine.
Now it’s a hopeless mess of weeds, caged in by wire mesh, which I refuse to go into because of the ridiculous amounts of poison ivy against the back fence. I first noticed it after the bumps popped up on my wrists and arms. When I finally got rid of the allergic reaction, I went out and saw that the poison ivy had crawled all along the fence line and told my husband that neither I, nor the children who share my familial allergy to this nasty little weed, would be entering the garden again until the poison ivy was gone.
And that was the end of that. He couldn’t be bothered to make the garden safe for me.
All the hard work to make the land fertile, the garden safe from pests (and the dogs), all the years of nurture and veggies and working together as a family to do something good for us - all ended because of that weed - and his distinct lack of interest.
This is a real garden in my backyard, and this is a real description of its’ state of being, but it is also a very apt metaphor for my marriage.
We worked together to become stronger and better as a team, we went through fertility and growth, and when I couldn’t handle some things, he took up the slack. I did the same for him. But just as quickly as the poison ivy killed our garden, something killed our marriage.
I wish I could point at this or that and say “There is the poison ivy” but the truth is, I cannot. He just wasn’t interested enough to put in the work and, after a while of fighting the good fight, neither was I.
We still struggle along, cultivating the children and helping them grow, but one day they will be off growing their own gardens. And I, I will be left with a man who no longer cares about my garden in the depths of fall and the early signs of winter.
At least, that’s what I had to look forward to.
In the last year, a new garden has begun to grow. I am living and loving again, and there is not a sign of poison ivy in sight. My physical fertility may be at an end, but there is so much more to cultivate in the mind, and the heart. And I know that when I get bored and complacent and forget to pull the weeds, he will be there doing it for me. When I forget to bring in the harvest, I will still come home to a basketful of beautiful veggies, waiting to nurture me and help me grow. And I will joyfully do the same for him.
Where once I only foresaw fall leaves and frost-bitten ground, now I see spring growth and summer harvests. Eventually there will be fall leaves and snow, as there is in every life, but now they will be joyful and beautiful instead of mournful and bitter.
Once, this garden was beautiful. It was a place of life and growth. My little family worked in there together to grow foods that would make our children grow healthy and strong.
I love the preparation of tilling the earth, adding things to make it more fertile, planting the seedlings (or seeds). And even though I often have a short attention span and often get bored before the summer is over and the harvest is done - my husband would take up the chores and finish out the year. Most of the harvest was done by his two hands, not mine.
Now it’s a hopeless mess of weeds, caged in by wire mesh, which I refuse to go into because of the ridiculous amounts of poison ivy against the back fence. I first noticed it after the bumps popped up on my wrists and arms. When I finally got rid of the allergic reaction, I went out and saw that the poison ivy had crawled all along the fence line and told my husband that neither I, nor the children who share my familial allergy to this nasty little weed, would be entering the garden again until the poison ivy was gone.
And that was the end of that. He couldn’t be bothered to make the garden safe for me.
All the hard work to make the land fertile, the garden safe from pests (and the dogs), all the years of nurture and veggies and working together as a family to do something good for us - all ended because of that weed - and his distinct lack of interest.
This is a real garden in my backyard, and this is a real description of its’ state of being, but it is also a very apt metaphor for my marriage.
We worked together to become stronger and better as a team, we went through fertility and growth, and when I couldn’t handle some things, he took up the slack. I did the same for him. But just as quickly as the poison ivy killed our garden, something killed our marriage.
I wish I could point at this or that and say “There is the poison ivy” but the truth is, I cannot. He just wasn’t interested enough to put in the work and, after a while of fighting the good fight, neither was I.
We still struggle along, cultivating the children and helping them grow, but one day they will be off growing their own gardens. And I, I will be left with a man who no longer cares about my garden in the depths of fall and the early signs of winter.
At least, that’s what I had to look forward to.
In the last year, a new garden has begun to grow. I am living and loving again, and there is not a sign of poison ivy in sight. My physical fertility may be at an end, but there is so much more to cultivate in the mind, and the heart. And I know that when I get bored and complacent and forget to pull the weeds, he will be there doing it for me. When I forget to bring in the harvest, I will still come home to a basketful of beautiful veggies, waiting to nurture me and help me grow. And I will joyfully do the same for him.
Where once I only foresaw fall leaves and frost-bitten ground, now I see spring growth and summer harvests. Eventually there will be fall leaves and snow, as there is in every life, but now they will be joyful and beautiful instead of mournful and bitter.