Jean

My Grandma's garden is full of whimsy,
and weeds.
She pulls the ones she can reach and the others become part of the landscape.

There are more weeds these days than there used to be. I haven't sorted our whether this is because my aging grandmother has settled into protecting her body and recognizing her physical limitations, or if she simply has changed her opinion on the definition of a weed.

She knows each one by name and praises their beauty,
Recognizing that their determination and vitality match her own -
Opponents worthy of a life full-lived.

She used to tie a thick rope around her waist, fixing the opposite end to one of her permanent garden fixtures (the bridge over her river rock stream, the iron-wrought four poster flower bed) and then belay herself down the steep embankment at the edge of her property to tackle the encroaching Creeping Bellflower and Himalayan Balsam.

She laughs at her former antics as if her 75-year-old choices were distant adventures of a youth in spring fever, not a mere 6 years ago. If it is a restriction that she's placed on herself and not a change in gardening philosophy, there are no signs of resentment toward her new garden boundaries. She retreats from the battle with grace.

She's a practical woman, and she talks realistically about plans for the future with beautiful insight into failing bodies and minds -something she is well-versed in due to her decades of volunteer service in the community "old folks' home". But she remains protective of her present. She refuses to accept irrational or age-expected slowing. Frailty will not be a self-fulfilling prophecy for Jean, because she continues to test her limits and lives reaching for them. She does not lack judgment, she just wants to live well and does not respect slowing for slowing's sake. This summer she seeded the vegetables with a plastic bag tied around her walking cast. I respect her persistence and hope I have the stamina to follow suit.

I struggle to think about my Grandma's mortality. I do not want a world without her energy in it. I will not imagine her garden grown over.