Jilly Brandon

Overgrown, overwrought, hidden undergrowth . These rose bushes look to be dried up brown, and near dead.

But… they bloomed before..last summer. Were they a tad wild? Why yes they were, but I liked em that way . The pediment of this rose garden was a lovely statue left behind by the previous owner. It was quaint with a side of whimsy.

Two mischievous looking angel babies pouring delectable and invisible water, or is it wine from one urn into another . They look pleased with their interaction, and thus created a quiet and enjoyable calm to the brambles that surrounded them .

From deep inside these caverns danger lurked. As the sun warmed the statue, creatures flew out. Not the kind you want flying towards you on a warm summers’ day. No these were the insects with the dangly legs, and cylindrical shaped abdomens and antennae that strikes an instantaneous fear from your gut. Wasps.. I hate those guys. I call them ” Satan bugs.” They look creepy, and deadly..hence their adopted name.

I decided last summer to spray foam from a wand of wasp killer directly into the insides of this innocent looking urn. I wasn’t taking any chances, these demon bugs needed to be gone. The only relocation project for them was the grave.

If you have ever been stung by one of these, you don’t forget . Incredibly painful sting .

I’m attempting to learn more about gardening and pruning of things that grow.

The yard needed a good haircut which the lawn mower took care of, and my son Zach trimmed the edges with precision and intention. It’s always good to be outdoors and in the sunshine. Good medicine for your head space.

I noticed that the rose stems looked dried out, but thought, maybe it’s too early yet for them, and just put it out of my mind. It didn’t register because I had more deep and more meaningful things upon my mind, except of course I don’t even remember what those items were.

When I took a more inquisitive gander I noticed the prolific green foliage that was all through the space. It then hit me like a freight train. “Bind weed”. It looks like almost a grape leaf, and also harmless ivy that crawls around living things. It certainly has tentacles, but these sinewy vines seek to envelop the existing plant, and if not removed, they will kill it.

My poor roses. So blooming and pretty last summer had been taken over and devoured by this blood thirsty weed.

As I donned my gardening gloves, I started pulling on these suckers. They were grabbing onto everything for dear life. It made me sad to see that underneath, the stems of the roses had grown black. They were hidden, and straggly, and not bearing any blooms…or leaves. They had succumbed to the power of this insatiable weed.

I yanked and pulled, until I fell backwards on my butt into the cool green grass. How did I let it get this bad ? I was mad at myself for not being here to see my roses in their plight, and not standing guard over them with my trusty weed sword.

Out came my pruning shears, and my pink leather tool belt..thank you Laura for that . Useful and colorful , form and function, a significant pairing.

I began to cut back the dead growth, not being very careful as to how I cut them, just trying not to get pricked by the now dead and dried out branches themselves that were crisp and sharper than normal with thorns waiting to pierce the skin.

Next time, I’ll wear long sleeves. I was cut several times, and the rose brambles set off allergic bumps to my arms. Time to pop back inside for a long cool glass of ice water, and some allergy meds.

I needed to cut the branches into very small pieces so that they would not poke holes in the brown paper garden waste bags. So much death .

I filled almost two big bags with the remnants of the roses. Underneath it all I found green, and some leaves. Two bushes appeared to have survived. Yippee. Will they still bloom, I shall have to wait and see. I am hopeful .

It made me realize how much living things need constant care and attention..and pruning. Pruning does not feel comfortable, but without it, can there be fresh growth ? Trusted people can gently prune us, and point us upwards towards fresh new hope. Even when all hope seems lost, and the brambles and deadly weeds seem to infect us, the gardener can come along and set us free.

I adore fresh spices. It was time to set down roots and grow some of my own out on the front porch .

It’s the growing of the things that we learn, and expand. Will there be weeds, oh yes there will. If I tend my garden and not let them overtake , then things will bloom. I need to be on the alert, and for my green growing plants to know that I have their backs. I will not abandon them .. kinda like my humans.

Listening to the morning dove coo in her sweet haunting voice reminds me of days gone by spent out on the farm at my Grandparents in rural Saskatchewan. Certain sounds just jettison me back in an instant . The sprinklers are going off in the park, and a Robin is making a nest up upon my roof somewhere. Some dear lady told me it’s good luck if a bird makes a nest on your home . I’m going with that .

This guy is still thinking. He has sat in many gardens, and in many places from when I bought him from a garage sale 35 years ago. The artist, Auguste Rodin, ” The Thinker.” He has pondered much over the years, if only he could encapsulate his journey with me, whatever would he say?

Mornings on the porch, drinking coffee, reading and writing, it’s a taste of heaven, and I am content. Being just here in this moment, even while there is much going on in this place, I am grateful to be here in a place that I adore.

There will be thorns, and pain, and suffering. I know this is not news. Surrounding oneself with people that are in your corner is the best destination on the planet.