Guest Story: Love and Death in the Garden of the Heart, by Dan Rubin

I'm delighted to present this short piece by my friend, Dan Rubin.

Love and Death in the Garden of the Heart

by Dan Rubin

I love my garden.  Everything I have ever cared about is right here.  I know they call me "crazy old cat lady" but that is not the whole story.

This was the family home.  We moved here in 1932 when I was very young.  Papa worked for the railroad. This house was just a short walk from the yards, and it had everything we needed.  This swing, well he made it for me, and even though I have replaced the ropes at least four times over the years, it is still the one he built and hung here from the branches of the old maple.

One reason I love my garden is that everything comes to rest here.  It accepts whatever we can give it.  This rich, dark soil is proof of that, fed by generations, fed by blood and bone you might say. 

Soil is not dirt.  I keep telling people that, when they visit, though many do not come by any more.  They are all gone.  But nature is generous with her gifts, returning everything to the soil in the end.

Where was I?  Oh yes, you see that bed over there?  That was dug by my first husband, Leroy.  Heart shaped, he said, because it stood for his love for me.  Well that was all fine, you see.  Love is fine, if it is kind and gentle.  But he snored!  And when he was in his cups he grew mean.  It took weeks for the bruises to heal.  In the end, I had had enough.   Dig it deep, I told him, and made sure he did, knowing the piles of soil would come in handy when he finally had his, well, his little accident with the shovel.   As I said, the garden accepts what we give it.

It was Danny who laid out the paths.  He arrived at exactly the right time, needed a place to stay, so I took him in.  Nothing straight, I told him, everything must curve.  Edges and borders, planted to nasturtium and hostas, to fill in the shaded parts.  It came together very well.   But after the night I caught him pilfering the silverware, I knew what I had to do.   Everything feeds the soil.

And then there were the cats, so many generations of cats.  Sometimes the little ones lived, but when there were too many in a litter, one has a simple choice: to find homes for them (my neighbours soon grew tired of being offered yet another kitten) or, in the end, return them to the earth.  These lovely sunflowers, well every one of them is, in a sense, a kitten.

My second husband seemed to understand all that.  He helped me finish the borders, planting lilacs and the hedge of blackberries that screens out the road, grown busier and busier through the years, though not so busy now that the railroad is gone, the tracks torn up and replaced by a four lane road.  He was a good worker, while he lasted.  But once his work was done, the garden more or less complete, there was another choice to make.   The fruit trees, I thought, they need feeding..   He was perfect for that simple task.

Yes, there is so much richness, there are so many memories here.  In the end, I am resigned to my own place in it.  I am not shy about that.   Not any more.  "Like the lowly chambermaid we all must come to dust."  As Yeats said, or Shakespeare or whoever it was.   Dust to dust.   All part of our journey.

But for now I sit, watch cats lounge in the bright morning sun, and sip my tea.   That is enough.  Yes, I do love my garden.   Everything I care about is right here.

(c) 2021 by Dan Rubin. Used by permission

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Dan Rubin is an award-winning author of fiction, non-fiction, poetry and journalism who grew up in California but now makes his home on the Atlantic Coast of Canada.   He lives in a small town north of St. John's, Newfoundland where he works as an arts administrator and garden educator.   Over the past forty years, his short fiction has won regional awards, been published, anthologized and produced for broadcast twice on CBC radio.   

He is the author of four diverse books: the biography Salt on the Wind: The Sailing Life of Allen and Sharie Farrell  (published by Horsdal and Schubart, 1996); a music collection, Tanglecove: 30 New Canadian Fiddle Tunes (Tanglecove, 2014); a community history, Pouch Cove: Our Home by the Sea (Pouch Cove Heritage Society, 2015) which won the provincial Manning Award for heritage preservation, and his first novel, a futuristic adventure story, A Fire on the Sea which was shortlisted in the Amazon first novel competition and published by First Person Press (2017).   He continues to develop new works, and currently has four novels, a screenplay and three non-fiction books in development.  Details of his writing and his music (he is also a songwriter and composer with twelve albums of original music released to date) can be found at www.danrubin.ca.

The painting is by Claude Monet, The Artist's Garden at Vétheuil, 1881.