What Nancy Believed
Yesterday I noticed that her rose bushes, although largely neglected, are laden with plump, defiant yellow and peach-colored roses. They’re big and scraggly, bowing their heavy heads, carelessly dropping leaves into the mud at their feet, ignoring the tiny beetles that are crawling in their petals. They are like blowsy, buxom blondes who partied to excess but are nonetheless glad to be here. Their confidence inspires me; this is their imperfect moment to be in bloom, and damn, they’re gonna bloom.
I feel as if the roses are a gift from Nancy. As readers of this blog know, she was my mother-in-law, and she lived in the house next door to us for all the years I have been at this ranch. I look out each morning onto a macadamia orchard whose trees she planted decades ago, and whose delicious nuts we used to sell at the farmer’s market. It too is somewhat unkempt these days, but there are remnants of pink pungent blossoms dangling from the branches, and the butterflies have been visiting regularly, and no matter what the future holds for me, I can always close my eyes and remember that I lived above a macadamia orchard for much of my life, an orchard near the sea.
Nancy also planted citrus trees, and thus I am self-actualized, because I always believed that if I were ever to live in a place where I could walk outside and pluck lemons and oranges right from the tree, I would truly have arrived—and here I am. She was an expert gardener, as well, with a particular interest in native plants. We daily gaze upon sage, ceanothus, rosemary, buckthorn, toyon, and all sorts of others whose Latin names I can still read on handwritten notes she tucked into a book to which she frequently referred: “Trees and Shrubs for Dry California Landscapes: Plants for Water Conservation”. Nancy was savvy and conscientious about her choices. She cared.
As a matter of fact, in the year before her passing, she started several toyon seedlings, and among her last wishes was a request that we tend to these and replant them when they were ready. We dutifully did so, distributing them to be planted in just-right places, one of which is our friend Robin’s garden.
And so it came to pass that we recently gathered in Robin’s garden and put a little toyon plant into the ground, tenderly patting the soil around it, and as we did so, we thought about Nancy, and what we learned from her.
Nancy Believed
If you plant and tend, it will grow and thrive…
But if it doesn’t, it’s okay to pull it out.
Don’t talk too much. DO instead.
Be of service to your community.
Savor the accomplishment, not who gets the credit.
Tell the truth—quietly but unadorned.
Clean up your mess and don’t be a burden.
Leave it all a little nicer than it was.
It occurs to me it’s a fitting kind of credo for living here.
On this Christmas morning, I thank Nancy for the roses. And when I pass the stillness of her empty house, I will picture her sitting in the window, white hair and blue sweater, looking out—hopefully, approving.