Indira’s Garden

      I walk out the front door to begin the early morning dog walking task, and there she is. She is in her front yard.  I have to look closely to see her.  Her clothing acts as camouflage among the flowers.  She sits on a little stool in a colorful sari or a long, flowing print dress.  Bending is out of the question.  She has arthritis, and her back has presented many problems that required surgery.  She is over 70 years old, but she looks so beautiful among her beloved plants.  Her face is radiant.  She is at peace.

      I buy annuals in the spring, I plant them, add a bit of fertilizer, and water them every other day. I just want to get the job done in the least amount of time.    Not my neighbor.  She preens her flower beds with great care. Her flower garden is in her front yard, not the back.  The garden is composed of beautiful borders and winding plots of soil laden blooms. I know she wants everyone who passes by to stop for just a moment and enjoy her efforts.

      She checks the well-being of every petal.  She ties bending blooms to stakes.  She removes spent buds.  She studies each plant’s placement, and transplants those that would please the eye even more if moved to another location.  She cuts flowers that she will later arrange in a beautiful vase in her living room.  She removes plants, puts them securely in plastic containers, and delivers them to her neighbors, hoping they will plant them in their gardens.  I do.

      In the fall, she collects the seeds from the withering plants.  She puts a potpourri of seeds in plastic sandwich bags.  She places the seed-filled bags in her neighbors’  mailboxes.  I always plant the seeds in the spring.   I plant the seeds in the front yard, not the fenced backyard, so that she will see them as soon as she steps outside.   I know this makes her happy.