Last spring had been exceptionally difficult for me. The two seasons that had preceded it had been difficult, as well. I’d grown quite accustomed to being by myself. Not by myself in the sense of always alone (there was a lot of that, too). By myself meaning that I felt completely alone with my thoughts and feelings. I’d adopted a type of hermit mentality. Though I was frequently in the company of other people, I felt completely alone, misunderstood, and/or unseen. There had been some good times and great accomplishments in those months, but the disappointments and resulting heart break left me feeling tattered and unable to be very appreciative.
It showed, too. I was incredibly thin and frail. I doubted that anything could pull me out of my misery. I was stuck. I needed help. I did find heroes, or rather, they found me.
My heroes came in surprising forms: an elderly neighbor, a woman who had been living with cancer for several years, and a friend with an ailing husband. Not exactly what one would expect. These women asked for my help and services. They asked me into their lives and homes: for some gardening and some cleaning. I feel that I owe these women so much.
During the spring time months, and into the early summer months, I offered them what I had. I pulled weeds, I planted seeds, and transplanted plants, dug in the dirt, and pruned trees and shrubs. I scrubbed floors, vacuumed, made beds. As I did these simple tasks, I took in the morning sun, breathed the fresh air, grew stronger, and began to appreciate my capability of doing such things (not everyone has the strength to make a bed). I could observe their lives and I learned so much. I learned what it means to be a wife; I observed their strength and grace in the face of adversity; I admired their ability to always know what was really important in life; I received the full benefit of their generosity. Their generosity…it didn’t matter what obstacles they faced. They were generous with their time, their listening, their encouragement, their kindness, even their money. Their “soft” attributes are their strengths. My life became brighter because of these women, I felt fully awakened by being a part of their everyday lives.
One day, I was asked to help prune a willow tree. There are many species of willows in this region: red willows which grow along river and stream beds, weeping willows which are usually found in front yards and back yards, and more commonly, the run of the mill yellow barked willow that grows into a small shade tree. This particular willow is none of those. It is commonly referred to as a “corkscrew” willow, part of its Latin name being “tortuosa”, because of the twisting nature of its branches. Even the leaves have some amount of twisting. There aren’t very many of them in this part of the world. They are absolutely beautiful: branches spiraling upward reaching for the sky, bark ranging in shades of gold, orange, and umber. The branches make lovely dried arrangements, too. I saved cuttings from some of the pruned branches.
A sprig of dormant willow, when placed in dirt and given sun and water, will grow into a tree. It is a process called propagation. To gardeners, it means that a plant can be divided into several plants, and transplanted to new parts of the garden, or given to friends. I propagated the cuttings from the willow tree. Willows are the only deciduous tree I know of that will regrow simply by putting a stick in the ground. My cuttings have grown happily and considerably in a pot for the past year. They will be planted in my yard, in honor of my heroes. They will grow as a reminder of the beauty and grace that can result in the tortuous nature of life.
