The Briar Philosopher - Laying the Garden By

I’ve been busy the last week or so with chores that must be done as autumn comes. It seems a mite early but I spent a chunk of that time laying my garden by. There is a bit more to the process this year than in most years. The summer was hot and humid and there were spells of rain that ran on. This kind of weather often leads to various fungal attacks on the garden and we had more than our share of those this year. Because of that, I will pile all the stalks and vines and such on the garden and burn them this fall to kill any spores that might be waiting in the soil just to attack again next year. 

Laying the garden by is always a time of reflection, as is making apple butter and grinding meat, all of which I put my hand to over the weekend. All of these things always bring my mother’s presence to my kitchen to the point that I can hear her voice singing the old songs she used to sing while working: Worried Man Blues, Pretty Polly, Shanghied, Lonesome Cattle Call, etc. They just play in my head while I work and I join in from time to time. 

It has been more years than I care to count since Mommy walked on but she remains with me. 

I have mentioned before that I mingled some of her ashes into my garden so she continues to walk in a garden always. The garden was her favorite place to be. I wrote the following poem for her Memorial Service and it still brings a tear and a smile and a sigh. 

Laying the Garden by

Many were your rows of days.

The last too hard to hoe.

Many the fields you planted,

And many the seeds you’d sow.

We gather your harvest to us

With a tear, a smile, a sigh

As we now stand on Autumn land

Laying the garden by.

But, oh the harvest of stories

And the laughter of the day

Before the turning of seasons

Did pluck the Rose of May.

We know that Spring will carry you

To earth and river and sky

And that circles have no endings

We’re just laying the garden by. 

Your roots too deep for frost to touch

Still nourish the shoots you bore.

The bounty of your blossoms now

Within our hearts we store.

Your winged seeds have fallen

But to good earth they did fly.

So a song of beginnings we’re singing

As we lay the garden by.

~Carmen Abner