My January garden

It's been tough lately. Lots of grey skies, and if the wind isn't so cold and blustery that Shadow and I don't feel like walking, it's sunny and icy. I've been leaving him behind a lot just to get my exercise. He turns 9 next week, and is less and less interested in walks and more and more interested in cozy naps. Some days, I feel the same.

What makes everything even tougher is this darn constant low-grade covid depression, all the folks I know who are down with the virus, and the incessant news about how it's messing up everybody's lives. We know, media, we know! Plus, my dear L'Arche friend, Debbie, a sweet, sometimes stubborn, and "empowered woman," as another friend put it, died too soon last week and broke my heart in places I didn't expect. It's been two years now since I saw her, and covid means attending a funeral is impossible...

So when the Vesey's spring bulb catalog arrived last week, you'd think it would make me happy, but it only added to my depression. Most of what's in it only grows in Zones 4-8, and Edmonton is barely a Zone 3, so all those bright flowers won't make it in my perennial beds, which, to be fair, are pretty full already anyway. So the catalog went straight into our recycling bag... until I decided this morning that I need a January garden.

Nope, not this one.

This one!

I got to work with my scissors and tape, and it took me about a half hour to make a long ribbon of flowers cut straight out of Vesey's. These flowers won't grow in my yard very well, but they have definitely brightened my office. And if you don't look too closely, the woman standing in the heather with the wineglass could be me! 

My January garden is something of a reminder that these grey days, covid, and all my other sorrows will ease into something better, I hope.

Thankful

Yesterday morning, my husband and I took a brisk walk around Henderson Lake in Lethbridge. We had to lean into the wind on the south side of the lake, but on the north side we were sheltered by the trees and the lessened wind was at our back. Canada geese and seagulls entertained us and themselves in or near the water, the sun shone, beauty overwhelmed me and I was full of thanks.

It's been a cooler-than-usual autumn in the West, but there we were, in our shirtsleeves on Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, enjoying the crunch of leaves underfoot and their colours in the trees and vines around the lake, greeting the people we passed on the pathways, and just being happy.

After that wonderful start to the day, the words of the first hymn we sang at church brought tears to my eyes:

For the fruit of all creation, Thanks be to God.

For the gifts of every nation, Thanks be to God.

For the plowing, sowing, reaping,

Silent growth while we are sleeping,

Future needs in earth's safekeeping, Thanks be to God.

In the true reward of labour, God's will is done.

In the help we give our neighbour, God's will is done.

In our worldwide task of caring

For the hungry and despairing,

In the harvests we are sharing, God's will is done.

For the harvests of the Spirit, Thanks be to God.

For the good we all inherit, Thanks be to God.

For the wonders that astound us,

For the truths that still confound us,

Most of all that love has found us, Thanks be to God.

(Catholic Book of Worship #532, For the Fruit of All Creation. Text by Fred Pratt Green (1970) -- traditional Welsh melody "All Through the Night")

On days like yesterday, I know deep down, without a doubt, that a Love larger than we can imagine has found us. Thanks be to God!

The colour of everything

Today's blog entry should be pre-empted by red tomatoes, red tomatoes, red tomatoes and... more red tomatoes. But I'm procrastinating on canning spaghetti sauce, because moodling is more fun than chopping onions!

I just returned from a walk in our river valley. We had a heavy frost last week, and the poplar trees are turning glorious gold against the dark greens of pines and spruces. The sky is a deep autumn blue after weeks and weeks of scudding grey clouds, and I am simply rejoicing in the colour of everything!

(This is a pear tree in our back yard.)