by Cia Huston Dreves – FoF Magazine Contributor
I came early to the garden this morning, not to enjoy its fragrant beauty, but to tackle a dreaded, seasonal task. The long shadows stretched lazy across the lawn with the first rays of sun, and dew still glistened on the grass. It was a picture of perfect serenity broken only by my intrusion – a ridiculous looking figure, I must admit.
Thoroughly sprayed with insect repellant, socks pulled over the legs of my jeans, the deep pockets of my favorite, oversized, gardening scrub bulging with pruners and scissors and such, and topped with my well- worn straw hat, I trudged to the line of almost ancient Azaleas that circled the drive. Lugging the heavy hedge trimmer in one arm and pulling my 2-step ladder with the other, I had a flitting thought of thankfulness that I lived on a seldom-traveled, country road and was likely to escape being seen in such a state.
I had put off trimming the Azaleas for almost a year, until they had grown far above my head in height and spread so wide that they were encroaching on the drive itself. The trimming had never before been a solitary job. For all the years past, in late Spring and early Fall, my husband had set up the trimmer and the ladder for me and brought the wheelbarrow to the task. As I would trim and carefully shape, he would gather the trimmings into the wheelbarrow and, as if by magic, he would whisk them away to some unknown location deep within the woods.
This morning, I tried desperately to ignore the thoughts of how things had been in the past. I tried to concentrate on taming the overgrowth. I brought to mind the independent nature that had served me so well through the struggles of my life and kept repeating, “I can do this”, with an air of defiance as if scolding myself for having feelings.
My arms grew tired under the weight of the trimmer stretched out above me. They grew heavy as I lowered the trimmer to cut the face of the endless row of shrubs. Up the ladder. Down the ladder. Move the ladder and up the ladder again. The sun had risen in the cloudless sky and beat hard against my back. A small cloud of gnats found my head irresistible as perspiration began to drip from the ends of my hair. I was one moment, one breath, away from breaking into tears. The words, “I can NOT do this alone”, fought to form in my mind.
Just then, something strange caught my eye. It was simply something out of place, something that didn’t belong. My finger came off the trigger of the trimmer as I strained to bring into sweaty focus the object deep within the newly revealed branches of the Azaleas. It was a bird’s nest for goodness sake.
It was a very unusual bird’s nest in my experience. I was not the dark clump of the Cardinals I’d come across so often or the clumsy masses of leaves the Wrens gather in unlikely places near the ground. This was hung from a fork in the branches. It was tidy and meticulously engineered.
All work stopped. All thoughts of loneliness and inadequacy and self- consciousness of appearance vanished. I was captivated by the little nest. I went to the house for the camera, took pictures and returned to enlist the aid of the computer for identification. As far as I could tell, the little nest had been the home of a pair of Goldfinches. That knowledge gave me a welcome sense of satisfaction since I had fed the little beauties well each Spring for many, many years. Now, it seemed, they were repaying the kindness with an excuse for me to leave the remainder of my task until tomorrow.
Removing the hat, the gloves, the shoes and the socks, I rinsed away the saltiness of the sweat and the insect repellant residue under the garden hose. I went to the house for a cold glass of Sweet Tea and curled up in my favorite chair in the shade of my aging Hickory tree.
I don’t know about you but my mind is a curious thing. It can take me to places I’ve never been, to places that I’d like to go and, just as easily, to places I’d like to avoid.
It seemed it was the little bird’s nest that triggered my thoughts throughout the afternoon – the little “empty nest”. How well I understood that phrase. It had come to me so many lifetimes ago when my youngest excitedly went off to her first day of school. How uncomfortably quiet the house had felt in those first hours without the company of even one remaining little one. As years passed, I suppose I had forgotten that first solitude. I’m pretty sure of that because as the children lingered in their busy and blustery teens, I remember my anthem song: Cool and the Gang’s “Cool Change”, simply because of the line, “If there’s one thing in my life that’s missing, it’s the time that I spend alone…” I lingered with the melody a few seconds and laughed a little at the thought. Then my mind was off again, flitting from place to place like an unruly child, refusing to settle in one single spot.
I thought of the times we all face when the last of our children have grown and moved on to build lives of their own – that “prime of life” moment when we each must answer that “What now?” question. Generally we adjust, we redefine, set new goals. Sometimes we just keep on keeping on and find some level of satisfaction in the sheer ability to continue.
I think that’s where I’ve been this past year – mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other as if it were some great accomplishment, seeking satisfaction in crossing items from my endless “To Do” lists.
Again my errant mind returned to the little empty nest – to the Goldfinches that flit around the feeding socks in Spring. How busy and cheerful they are, even in my memory. And, I felt suddenly blessed at having a memory of them, their antics and their beauty. And I thought of “memories” in general and what a blessing they are when we choose to hold tight to the good ones, the beautiful ones, the ones that made us laugh – even some of the ones that make us cry.
My house is empty now. This emptiness, I never expected – not really. My husband and I talked occasionally of the surety that someday one of us would leave the other. I knew it in my mind but that is not the same as feeling the loss in my heart. Sometimes this emptiness seems like more than my feeble little self can bear.
Then, as if from nowhere, God reached into my loneliness and presented me with a symbol of all the struggles of my past year. My own little nest, once tidy and meticulously engineered, once filled with life, with times of growing and plans for the future. Now it is empty – ripe for discovery, just as I discovered the Goldfinch’s nest among the Azaleas – just as I discovered life after my youngest began first grade and just as I discovered myself apart from the role of mother with a house full of children. Now it is time for me to discover life once again. In a strange way it will be different but it will be the same, just as I am different and yet the same.
What an unusual and wonderful day God has given me today. I look around me and see long shadows stretched lazy across the lawn with last rays of the afternoon sun.
FOF Magazine contributing writer, Cia Huston Dreves enjoyed a 37 year career in Advertising as artist and writer before retiring. She has also written, directed and produced documentaries, published the How-To book “Find Cash in Your Kitchen” and maintains the blog, Still Finding Cash.blogspot.com.