Pat Bertram's Blog, page 2

What’s New

I seem to be on a blog streak lately: every two months on the 8th without fail I’ve managed to find some words to post. Perhaps bimonthly three times in a row isn’t much in the grand scheme of the world, the galaxy, the universe, but it’s a lot for me. I’m lucky in that there isn’t much to write about. I lead a quiet, sane life (at least it feels sane to me) without a lot of trauma or excitement, but that suits me well. I’ve had enough of both to last the rest of my life.

Oh, there are some things of concern, such as a couple of visitors of the small rodent kind and a crumbling corner of my foundation (for some reason, that particular corner decided it didn’t want to have anything to do with the rest of the house, so it went walkabout) but mostly, I (and my house) have been doing well.

So, what’s new? Snow! Lots and lots of snow. I haven’t seen so much snow in years. In fact, I think we’ve had more snow the past couple of days than all last winter. It’s been so warm that I’d been procrastinating on cleaning up my garden areas for fall, mowing one last time, readying the ground for planting wildflower seeds (which in previous years I did before the first snow) thinking I had plenty of time to do the work, but no. Snow!!

Luckily, they got the foundation concreted in before the snow started, but it will probably be a while before they can replace the dirt and redo the landscaping around the house. It’s ornamental rock, so it’s not much of a problem, and it’s out of the way so I won’t be putting myself in danger, but they might have to wait until the snow melts and the excavation area dries out. Or not. What do I know. And anyway, it’s not that cold, so I doubt the snow will be around for very long.

There isn’t much snow in the above picture of my ramp, but the snow that’s there is just from the early hours this morning. Yesterday, I shoveled the ramp twice. Each time the snow was about six or eight inches deep, so you can imagine how deep the snow would have been without all that work! And without the melt from late yesterday afternoon when the snow turned to rain.

After this storm passes, the days will warm up (though the nights will be colder than they have been), so I’m sure I’ll still be able to do the fall cleanup I’d planned, assuming, of course, I feel like it.

Right now, what I feel like is a cup of hot tea, a warm blanket, and a book to read, so goodbye for another couple of months! It was nice connecting with you.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Here I Am!

Can you believe it? Here I am, and it’s only been two months since I last put in an appearance on this blog! Occasionally, people contact me, wanting to know how and what I’m doing, which makes me realize that I need to post an update more often. I’ve had a note by my computer reminding me to do a blog for weeks now. I don’t know what the issue is — I suppose it used to be that I wrote to get myself out of my head, but now I’m not really in my head, so writing is not as much of a necessity as it once was.

Considering, too, that there’s not much going on in my garden in August, that takes away one topic of conversation. The only topic, actually. I haven’t written about much else in a long time, and August is a hard time for gardening around here. There are a few pretty flowers scattered around my yard, but mostly my gardening activities revolve around helping my greenery survive the heat and the humongous grasshoppers that are almost as big as the giant zinnias, and planning what to do for next year.

For a while, I made a point of eating outside. Eating alone at a table always seems so lonely, so generally I read while I eat, but lately, I’ve been trying something different — eating at the table in my gazebo without a book. Just enjoying what I’ve accomplished with my yard. Now that a heat wave is blasting through here again, I’ve put that activity on hold, and considering how hard it is to get me to do anything, who knows if I’ll get back to al fresco dining when it cools off again.

It’s ironic that for so many years after Jeff died I worried about stagnating, and I have to admit, despite all that worry, it’s come true. I tend my yard, read, play a game on my computer, talk to neighbors occasionally, and that’s about it. I really was doing fine going out and about, joining various activities, and inviting friends to tea until the whole Bob thing catapulted me into a solitary life. [If you don’t already know, I call it The Bob because of a conversation in A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel about a novel disease.] Now, I just don’t seem to have the impetus — or the energy — to catapult myself back into being gregarious again. Perhaps when it’s cooler, I’ll be more willing to be sociable. Or not.

Wishing you a wonderful September.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Lily Forest

Ever since I heard of lily trees (a cross between an oriental lily and a trumpet lily) and how tall they grow (an average of four feet), I wanted to grow a forest of lily trees. To that end, I’d been planting a few lily bulbs every year, and this year, they decided to really pop. And oh, my! What a lovely mini forest!

The lilies are large and vibrant, with lots of dark pink

light pink,

white

And even a couple of yellow that just showed up this morning.

Although for the most part, there isn’t a lot of color in my garden this time of year (after I pull up the spring-blooming larkspur, it takes a while for newly planted flowers to grow) the lilies command so much attention, that it doesn’t really matter. And then, of course, there is the purple echinacea that frames the forest. (It’s called purple, though in my garden, it’s actually pink, and can be seen at the bottom of the lily forest photo.

My raised garden is doing well, too. A squash!

A frog house nestled among the cucumbers and tomatoes. Well, tomato.

And contented birds shaded by another tomato plant. Luckily, the real birds are leaving my garden alone, though they tend to roam in the grass. With any luck, they are eating the myriad baby grasshoppers.

It is interesting to me that of all the things I thought of doing after Jeff died, owning a garden with a lily forest never even entered my mind, and yet here I am. Despite times of late-night loneliness, I am doing well. A garden can be such a comfort, at least as long as one concentrates on what is working rather than what is not. Even better, it provides a focus. There is always work to be done, plans to make, views to enjoy, and perhaps even a little food to harvest.

Best of all, it gives me fodder for an occasional blog post!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

What I Am Doing

Obviously, what I am doing right now is working on this blog post, but beyond this moment, I am sure you can guess what I am doing — working on my yard! And beyond that, I am sure you can guess what else I am doing — recuperating from all the work. I never realize how old I am until I start aching, and then, it’s hard to believe I was ever foolish enough to think that just because I could do some physical work, I wasn’t that elderly. (As an interesting aside, interesting to me, that is, elderly used to mean not yet old, whereas now it means old, frail old, decrepit old.)

In previous years, I would post photos of my yard, specific images that showed the few flowers that were blooming, and let you extrapolate from that how gorgeous my yard was. Or was not, which I often had to admit. This year, however, my yard truly is stunning.

The grass I planted last fall looks great. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that come summer and the enormous heat, the grass will survive. To that extent, I am trying not to water even when the grass looks dry and faded, hoping the roots will dig down deep enough that it will survive the heat blast.

Even though I thought I’d harvested all the larkspur seeds last year, enough blew around that any weedy area became a larkspur field this year.

No matter where the larkspur are, even invading a poppy field, they bring joy to all who see them.

Finally, after all these years, my raised garden is not only built, but filled with dirt. And plants! Flowers and vegetables mixed together in harmony. At least, that’s the hope.

The wild roses are doing well.

I have always loved the look of red and yellow bushes mixed together, but my yellow and red bushes got separated. I’ve been trying to buy yellow roses to plant among the red, but never found any. I have come to believe that the yellow is an aberration. One of my red bushes ended up with a stem of yellow flowers. I also found some yellow flowers on a red branch. And in one case, the red rose had yellow petals, too.

And that’s not all! The columbine I planted last year survived the winter and are now thriving.

Cottage pinks that were planted years ago decided to bloom profusely.

The ice plant is forming a carpet of shimmering beauty.

And petunias. What can I say? Petunias always do well here.

It’s funny, but despite the way the yard looks, I still don’t really know what I am doing. I’ve been told that there is an expiration date for that claim, but it certainly hasn’t arrived yet. The beauty of gardening (in addition to the beauty the eyes can see) is that plants that do well thrive and those that don’t, don’t. Any mistakes simply disappear, so what’s left looks as if it comes from heart of a master gardener even though I am strictly a trial-and-error dilettante.

I am learning, however, to take what comes. Last year, one garden area shone with the golden aura of wallflowers. This year, wallflowers are decidedly absent. Some plants that were supposed to be perennials turned out to be biennials. Some wildflower seeds that should have come up this spring never showed even a touch of green. The tulips that started out so hopefully ended up giving up before spring got underway.

I am going to try to take it easy physically for a couple of weeks so that when the larkspur go to seed, I will have the energy to pull up the plants to harvest the seeds and see what plants that wall of blooms is hiding. And then . . .

But “then” isn’t here yet.

Meantime, I am enjoying the surprises I find every day.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Fourteen Years

I’d stopped writing about grief a while ago — I stopped writing about anything, actually, except for an occasional post to give long time readers an update on my life. I certainly hadn’t intended to write anything else on the subject, although for many years, I felt it was my mission to document my grief so that others who were going through the same thing understood the truth: no matter how crazy grief feels or how long it takes, it’s a normal response to the death of a special loved one. I no longer have the zeal to help grievers, but today is the fourteenth anniversary of Jeff’s death, and I didn’t think the day should go uncommemorated. To be honest, I’m not sure why I feel as if I should commemorate the day. Although I still feel the jagged crack in my soul from where he was ripped from my life, the emptiness has been mostly filled with new memories, new experiences, new foci. Besides that, he has been gone so any years that I no longer feel as if I have a claim on his life. Or his death. Nor do I feel the anniversary in my very soul as I did in the beginning. If not for having it marked on the calendar, I might have let the day pass without acknowledgement. (I remember the date, of course, it’s just that time and calendars don’t seem to correlate to my daily life as they once did.)

Still, both his life and his death affected me enormously. I would not be the person I am today without knowing both love and grief, though I’m not sure that matters — the part about me being the person I am today, that is. For all I know, if things had been different, I might have been a better person, though I could have been worse or simply different or perhaps even the same. We can never know what might have been. All I know is that when he died, my life was sent on a completely different trajectory, and I ended up living a life I could never have imagined when we were together.

I wonder sometimes if we met up today if he’d still like me, but that is a futile speculation. He is gone. He has as little claim to my life now as I have to his. And yet, I do miss him, and perhaps always will.

A friend who has been widowed (widowered?) twice has just married his third wife. I can’t imagine the courage it takes to love again after losing a much-loved spouse not once but twice, nor can I imagine the hope it must entail.

But we all do the best we can to get through our days, and today, the best I can do is to think of Jeff.

And to remember.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Momentous March

There isn’t much in my life anymore that I want to or need to commemorate. There’s been nothing spectacularly good or spectacularly bad — just life. Living day by day. Enjoying being alive, or at least being at peace and accepting of what comes. I read, play games on the computer, exercise a bit, try to eat right, visit with friends occasionally. Just . . .live.

If there is any month, though, that should be commemorated, it is March, mostly because so many life of my life changing experiences have happened this month. In three weeks, it will be the fourteenth anniversary of Jeff’s death. It’s hard sometimes to remember that I wasn’t always alone, that once I shared my life with someone but fourteen years is a long time. Still, I do remember, especially during this month.

A happy commemoration is that March is also the anniversary of my becoming a homeowner. It’s amazing that those five years have sped by so quickly. It seems as if it wasn’t that long ago that I made this momentous and life changing decision. I have never once regretted buying the house — in fact, most days I look around in gratitude for this lovely, comfortable home.

March is also the month where my yard starts to come alive — the grass is greening, the tulips are poking through the winter-weary ground, and the larkspur are sprouting. I’m surprised to see the carpet of green larkspur sprouts this year — I thought I’d done a good job of collecting (and sharing!) the seeds — but I’m glad to see how eager they are to grow, especially since we’ve had so little moisture this winter. (The mountains grabbed it all before it could hit the plains.)

March is also the month I became a published author. Though it was a life-changing experience, to a certain extent, anyway, it wasn’t as much of a change as I had hoped. Still, it deserves a mention, especially now that I’ve pretty much given up writing. (I can’t even manage to write a single blog post every month, when once I wrote one ever day in addition to my fiction writing.)

I don’t often mention my birthday — I used to spend so much time online, used to post so much information, that I didn’t like the idea of my birth date being bandied about — but a birthday is certainly the anniversary of a life changing experience, perhaps the life changing experience, and that anniversary also occurs this month.

So far, all I’ve been doing to commemorate these momentous anniversaries is going outside every morning to see if any more tulips made an appearance, but with so many things to celebrate (though the anniversary of Jeff’s death isn’t something to celebrate, my surviving all these years and even thriving certainly is), I really ought to do something special. Well, posting this blog is special, but I should do something else I seldom do. Bake a cake maybe.

Wishing you a happy, momentous March!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

New Calendar

When I broke my three-year streak of blogging every day, I knew days would go by without my coming here to give you an update on my life, but I never expected that months would go by. I thought I would do a quick something for Halloween. Then when that day passed, I certainly thought I would participate in Blog4Peace as I have done for the past decade, but that day, too passed unacknowledged. Then Thanksgiving . . . I have so much to be thankful for, such as relative good health (relative to my age, that is), relative happiness (relative to those days when I never thought I could feel any sort of lightheartedness again), and relative wealth (relative to those days when I feared I would end up on the street). Most of all, I’m grateful for my lovely little house and sometimes lovely yard — my home. But Thanksgiving passed without any acknowledgement from me. Just because I passed on writing about my gratefulness, however, it doesn’t mean that I passed on feeling it, though to be honest, I don’t need a special day to be thankful — I am thankful every single day for the blessings life has bestowed on me.

Then of course, there was Christmas. That should have been an easy day to blog since I always post the same thing on Christmas, a graphic wishing you all the great things the season has to offer as well as a list of how to say “Merry Christmas” in dozens of different languages, but no. Didn’t happen. I don’t even have the excuse of being too busy because I spent the day alone, though my dear neighbor brought me Christmas lunch.

Well, here we are on a new holiday — the first of the new year. I just finished going through last year’s calendar to transfer recurring events to the new calendar, and discovered that except for a few birthdays I want to remember, there are no recurring events. Apparently, I am starting this year from scratch. Not as much scratch as I did after Jeff died, of course, because now I have a home, friends, and a goal (to create a lovely mini park in my yard).

I’ve been phased out of my job helping care for an older woman. She’s okay, just doesn’t need me right now. And I’ve phased myself out of the last group I belonged to. At the beginning, I enjoyed the meetings and the events we hosted because we were a small congenial group of friends, but the group has grown and there are . . .  undercurrents . . . for lack of a better word. I haven’t enjoyed the group for a long time, but I stayed because I worried that with nothing social to do, I’d become a total hermit. Come spring, of course, when I’m outside, being social is not a problem. I have neighbors to visit with over the fence and across the street, and I’ve even made friends with a couple of passers-by. But winter? When I’m inside so much? Luckily, it hasn’t been a problem so far. I manage to get together with friends occasionally, and when my knees cooperate, I even go out walking a bit.

All this to say that so far, my calendar is empty. Not that I (or you!) need to worry — this is first day of that calendar. There might not be recurring events for now, but that leaves a lot of room for more spontaneous get-togethers.

Sometimes I wonder what I’m going to do with all my free time, but mostly I let the days fill themselves. Books, movies, games, texts, calls, an occasional invitation, perhaps even blogging if I get back in the habit. It sounds trivial, doesn’t it? I never wanted to steep myself in inconsequential matters; I always strived for a meaningful life. For now, though, having life is meaning enough.

Wishing you a happy new year and a calendar filled with hope, love, health, and all the good things life has to offer.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Being

Do not adjust your screens. This is not a test. I am really here. Well, virtually here. As much as I used to enjoy blogging every day, I now enjoy not blogging. I like not having to pay attention to all the thoughts parading through my mind, like not having to pick the most salient one or the most provoking one or the most emotionally driven one to explore in a blog post. I’m just letting the thoughts go without worrying about developing them into something worth writing about. I’ve even stopped looking for answers to life’s big questions (and small ones), stopped looking for a better way to be or directions of where to go from here. I am just being here.

I am just . . . being.

Socrates was wrong, at least for me. The unexamined life is worth living. It might not be an exciting or challenging or even worthwhile way to live, but it’s working. I certainly have had enough trauma in the past couple of decades to last me a lifetime. In a way, the hits keep coming – death has recently claimed good friends (and acquaintances who were on their way to being good friends) — but these losses pale in comparison to the devasting grief I experienced after Jeff died. Nothing compares to that, which makes it easier to accept what comes — and goes — in my life.

On a completely different scale of losses, my sodded lawn died this summer. Even though temperatures were five to ten degrees cooler than normal, the sun was actually more scorching, and it burned plants that normally do well here, like the new England asters. My poor grass didn’t stand a chance. For some reason (good luck, perhaps) I did well — and was well — this summer, so I was able to work two or three hours a day digging up the dead lawn and the Bermuda grass that grew in its place.

It was good to have the work, because the summer was hard. Too many insect invasions — miller moths, mosquitoes, grasshoppers that gnawed all the leaves and even some branches off a couple of my young trees and old bushes. Too many wind and hailstorms, one that destroyed most of my flowers.

But now we are into fall. I have learned over these years of trying to turn my yard into a mini park, that of all the various seasonal gardens — from the first tulips in spring to the wild growth of weeds in summer to the colorful fall flowers — I prefer the fall garden. Nothing of course, beats the hopeful sign of those early spring blooms, but by fall, weeds that have been cleared out have stopped growing back, mounds of chrysanthemum greenery have become lush mounds of color, the grass (what there is of it) is still green. The air is still, the threat of devastating hailstorms is past, and the skies are a deep, deep blue. Even better, though hordes of grasshoppers are still here, they have stopped eating everything in sight.

I seem to have a lot of extra time right now — the new grass I planted is looking good, all the plants that needed to be transplanted have been taken care of, and it’s too early to sow wildflower seeds — so I am not spending much time in the garden and have not yet developed a new routine. But there are always books to fill in the time, as well as an occasional movie or a more than occasional game on the internet.

The housework I neglected all summer has even been done. The place is clean! Yay!

And, luckily, I am still doing well. I hope you are too.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Digging This Summer

The slang term “to dig” means to understand, approve of, or enjoy something, with the connotation that one is really into whatever it is that one is digging.

The title of this piece might make it seem as if I am really into this summer, really enjoying it, but that perception is far from the truth. Although for the most part, this summer has been cooler than the past few summers by about five degrees or so, it is still horrendously hot, with high temperatures hovering around 99 degrees. Despite that, it’s been harder keeping things alive this year — the sunlight seems even more piercing than normal, searing skin and grass and plants and anything else it happens to fall upon, even some normally sun-loving weeds.

The scourge of insects has been as bad as the heat. First there was the miller moth invasion, where hundreds of moths descended on my yard and made their way into house. Luckily, most of those inside moths were imprisoned in the basement, but a few still made their way into my living space. The weirdest moth incursion was into the screen on my microwave. How it got inside there, I don’t know, but it sure spooked me when I realized that’s what had darkened the viewing screen.

Next came clouds of mosquitoes. Despite mosquito repellent clothes and mosquito repellent spray for my skin, I managed to get several bites every day. I was so not digging that!

And then the grasshopper horde showed up, eating things that I planted specifically because these predators have left them alone in the past, like lilacs and zinnias. That’s not so bad because the lilacs will survive and the zinnias are annuals and so would be gone anyway, but those voracious eaters pretty much ate my greengage plum trees. There is still a bit of the skeletons left, so perhaps the trees will come back next year, but I am not counting on it, especially since there are still weeks of summer left for those critters to continue munching.

We also had three devastating hailstorms. Luckily, they didn’t do any damage to the house or garage, but parts of my garden were decimated.

The most disheartening aspect of this summer has been the death of my expensively sodded lawn. They put in a grass that is geared for both sun and shade, and since most of my yard gets absolutely no shade and around fifteen hours of direct sun — searing sun — every day in the summer, the grass didn’t stand a chance. Even worse, the devil grass took over, destroying any possibility for simply overseeding the lawn.

So, no, I did not slangily dig this summer, but I did literally dig this summer, spending two or three hours every morning for the past couple of months digging up the dead grass and the live devil grass.

As hard as it is to do the work, it keeps me focused on what I can do rather than focused on things I can do nothing about. Because of that, until this past week, I wasn’t even that upset about the guys that sold me the wrong grass, but suddenly, the job overwhelmed me, and I was a bit peeved at the whole thing. I think if I believed the extreme heat tolerant grass seed I got would work out okay, it might not have bothered me, but I am to the point I’m not sure that anything I am doing is making a difference. Or that it’s worth it.

Still, I have to do something. I do like the look of the bare ground (and the gardening dream it brings of what could be), but unfortunately, I can’t leave the ground as is. Grasshoppers love bare ground to lay their nests, and next year their population would be incredibly dense if I don’t disturb the ground and plant something. Besides, weeds and the devil grass would take over, and I have no intention of ever doing this sort of digging again. Frankly, I’m astounded I could do it at all. Three years ago, my knees were so bad I could barely walk, and this year so far I’ve dug up about 1,000 square feet of weeds and grass. Makes me sore just thinking about it.

This isn’t the end, of course. After the digging comes the raking and then comes the seeding. And after all that comes daily (or even twice daily) watering until the grass comes up. (Despite my discouraging words a couple of paragraphs ago, I have to believe the grass will sprout and grow.) And then, whatever happens, happens.

Luckily, in just about four weeks, autumn will be here and put an end to this summer, whether I dig it or not.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

To Dig and To Dream

It seems odd to me that for so many years I blogged every day, and yet now I barely make it once a month. I suppose that’s a good thing — it means I’m not conflicted or obsessing or outraged about anything. What unpleasantries that assail me are noted and forgotten as much as possible. Mosquito bites, obviously, are not forgotten because that dang itch is always there as a reminder, but even that, for the most part, I’m able to note and then let go.

It’s good not to have something on my mind that I need to write about to clear my head, but on the other hand, nothing to blog about means nothing noteworthy is happening. Just life as it comes.

It’s been hot, of course, but while other places have been dealing with record-breaking heat, we’ve been five to ten degrees cooler than normal. No major forays into the 100-degree range, luckily, though high nineties is plenty hot enough. In fact, what grass was left is slowly succumbing to the unrelenting heat. I certainly never expected for the grass to continue to die — not only has it been a bit cooler than last year, we’ve been getting twice as much rain as normal.

That’s just life as it comes, I guess.

My gardening stint each morning is spent digging up the old grass in preparation for planting seed next month. This seed is supposed to be extreme heat tolerant, and it might be so. The patch I planted last fall has survived so far, and looks good. The patch I planted in the spring never did well — weeds grew faster than whatever seeds were left after the birds feasted, and now the devil grass is taking over.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m doing all this work. It seems silly to be spending so much time on the yard, and silliest to be digging up a lawn that was sodded only a couple of years ago, but if the grass can’t survive, it’s no good to me. I considered other options for a ground cover, but what it comes down to is a proper grass for the area is still the best bet. Seed is relatively cheap, can be walked on without damage, and once established needs no more work than the rest of the yard. (Surprisingly, the supposedly care-free ornamental rock and gravel areas are the hardest to take care of — there is always tree detritus clogging the rocks such as leaves and seeds and tiny twigs that can’t be cleaned off with a leaf blower. Even worse, with all the rain we’ve been having, weeds grow rampantly among the rocks and in the pathways.)

There will come a time when I can’t do the work I am doing in now. In fact, I’m surprised I can work as hard as I do — just a couple of years ago, it took me forever to get things done because my knees weren’t cooperating. So, silly or not, I’m grateful to be able to do anything physical. Besides, working in the yard gives me something different to focus on. And — sometimes — it seems worth it. So many of my flowers had been decimated by the hailstorms we had as well as by grasshopper hordes, but the annuals seem to be recuperating, the perennials are hanging in there, and the lilac bushes are doing well.

Because of my concentration on the grass, other parts of the yard might have to wait until next year to be taken care of, but who knows. I do manage to sneak in other chores between the digging. One thing I discovered quite by accident is that any part of the ice plant can be planted. (I’d picked a flower to show a neighbor, and then stuck it back in the ground to see what would happen, and it grew!) So any of plant that gets pulled up as I weed gets pushed back into the ground. Because of this, and some transplanting, I’m able to get the ice plant to spread out even more.

Someday, perhaps, I will have a gorgeous yard that’s easy to take care of, but for now, it’s enough just to dig and to dream.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.