She stood, well, rather leaned against the wide doorway for support. The tendrils of her gray hair damp around her tanned, deeply-lined face, she presented the glowing picture of a wise, older woman who has spent many, many seasons bent over shelves and trays of vibrant young vegetable and flower plants.
With each passing year my beloved and I would see her busy at work. This spring was a bit different. Now more unsteady, she seemed slightly bewildered with the hustle and bustle around her. She smiled as folks looking for the-perfect-plant moseyed passed her doorway, yet one had the sense she wasn’t quite sure what to do.
It was also interesting to note the gentle demeanor of the employees around her. As they moved from task to task they nodded in her direction as if to reassure her and themselves that all was well.
Why share this brief glimpse of someone whose name I do not know? Whose only encounter with us is when we make our annual trek to purchase our veggies and flowers?
Simple. She represents the best of the human spirit, of a life lived with passion and purpose. Which is not to imply she is a perfect human being. I’m sure she has had her moments of being upset, angry, or overwhelmed by the difficulties she has experienced over the many years she has lived.
Nonetheless, my hat—or should I say garden gloves—are off to her. There’s no doubt she could be sitting or reclining on a comfortable chair or sofa at home. Not this one. I believe her visits to the greenhouse to check on all the young plants, or say hello to her customers, are what give meaning to her day.
Interestingly enough we did not see her the day we visited in 2021. As you may well guess, I wondered if she had passed on to new heavenly adventures. To see her again this spring made me smile.
Sadly, we live in a culture that doesn’t always respect or truly value the aged among us. Maybe it is because their presence reminds us of our own mortality and that can be uncomfortable. Or maybe we are reminded that barring any unusual circumstances, we too will reach a season when we move slower with bent shoulders, an unsteady gait, and a certain mental fog.
For the record . . . I hope to see her at her regular post next year when it is time to select our plants. And if she is nowhere to be seen, I will trust she has moved alongside the Divine Gardener, eager and willing to tend to the spirits and hearts He will bless through the passion, purpose, and fruits of her long life among us.
