Fourteen Years

March 27, 2024 — Pat Bertram

I’d stopped writing about grief a while ago — I stopped writing about anything, actually, except for an occasional post to give long time readers an update on my life. I certainly hadn’t intended to write anything else on the subject, although for many years, I felt it was my mission to document my grief so that others who were going through the same thing understood the truth: no matter how crazy grief feels or how long it takes, it’s a normal response to the death of a special loved one. I no longer have the zeal to help grievers, but today is the fourteenth anniversary of Jeff’s death, and I didn’t think the day should go uncommemorated. To be honest, I’m not sure why I feel as if I should commemorate the day. Although I still feel the jagged crack in my soul from where he was ripped from my life, the emptiness has been mostly filled with new memories, new experiences, new foci. Besides that, he has been gone so any years that I no longer feel as if I have a claim on his life. Or his death. Nor do I feel the anniversary in my very soul as I did in the beginning. If not for having it marked on the calendar, I might have let the day pass without acknowledgement. (I remember the date, of course, it’s just that time and calendars don’t seem to correlate to my daily life as they once did.)

Still, both his life and his death affected me enormously. I would not be the person I am today without knowing both love and grief, though I’m not sure that matters — the part about me being the person I am today, that is. For all I know, if things had been different, I might have been a better person, though I could have been worse or simply different or perhaps even the same. We can never know what might have been. All I know is that when he died, my life was sent on a completely different trajectory, and I ended up living a life I could never have imagined when we were together.

I wonder sometimes if we met up today if he’d still like me, but that is a futile speculation. He is gone. He has as little claim to my life now as I have to his. And yet, I do miss him, and perhaps always will.

A friend who has been widowed (widowered?) twice has just married his third wife. I can’t imagine the courage it takes to love again after losing a much-loved spouse not once but twice, nor can I imagine the hope it must entail.

But we all do the best we can to get through our days, and today, the best I can do is to think of Jeff.

And to remember.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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Momentous March

March 5, 2024 — Pat Bertram

There isn’t much in my life anymore that I want to or need to commemorate. There’s been nothing spectacularly good or spectacularly bad — just life. Living day by day. Enjoying being alive, or at least being at peace and accepting of what comes. I read, play games on the computer, exercise a bit, try to eat right, visit with friends occasionally. Just . . .live.

If there is any month, though, that should be commemorated, it is March, mostly because so many life of my life changing experiences have happened this month. In three weeks, it will be the fourteenth anniversary of Jeff’s death. It’s hard sometimes to remember that I wasn’t always alone, that once I shared my life with someone but fourteen years is a long time. Still, I do remember, especially during this month.

A happy commemoration is that March is also the anniversary of my becoming a homeowner. It’s amazing that those five years have sped by so quickly. It seems as if it wasn’t that long ago that I made this momentous and life changing decision. I have never once regretted buying the house — in fact, most days I look around in gratitude for this lovely, comfortable home.

March is also the month where my yard starts to come alive — the grass is greening, the tulips are poking through the winter-weary ground, and the larkspur are sprouting. I’m surprised to see the carpet of green larkspur sprouts this year — I thought I’d done a good job of collecting (and sharing!) the seeds — but I’m glad to see how eager they are to grow, especially since we’ve had so little moisture this winter. (The mountains grabbed it all before it could hit the plains.)

March is also the month I became a published author. Though it was a life-changing experience, to a certain extent, anyway, it wasn’t as much of a change as I had hoped. Still, it deserves a mention, especially now that I’ve pretty much given up writing. (I can’t even manage to write a single blog post every month, when once I wrote one ever day in addition to my fiction writing.)

I don’t often mention my birthday — I used to spend so much time online, used to post so much information, that I didn’t like the idea of my birth date being bandied about — but a birthday is certainly the anniversary of a life changing experience, perhaps the life changing experience, and that anniversary also occurs this month.

So far, all I’ve been doing to commemorate these momentous anniversaries is going outside every morning to see if any more tulips made an appearance, but with so many things to celebrate (though the anniversary of Jeff’s death isn’t something to celebrate, my surviving all these years and even thriving certainly is), I really ought to do something special. Well, posting this blog is special, but I should do something else I seldom do. Bake a cake maybe.

Wishing you a happy, momentous March!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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New Calendar

January 1, 2024 — Pat Bertram

When I broke my three-year streak of blogging every day, I knew days would go by without my coming here to give you an update on my life, but I never expected that months would go by. I thought I would do a quick something for Halloween. Then when that day passed, I certainly thought I would participate in Blog4Peace as I have done for the past decade, but that day, too passed unacknowledged. Then Thanksgiving . . . I have so much to be thankful for, such as relative good health (relative to my age, that is), relative happiness (relative to those days when I never thought I could feel any sort of lightheartedness again), and relative wealth (relative to those days when I feared I would end up on the street). Most of all, I’m grateful for my lovely little house and sometimes lovely yard — my home. But Thanksgiving passed without any acknowledgement from me. Just because I passed on writing about my gratefulness, however, it doesn’t mean that I passed on feeling it, though to be honest, I don’t need a special day to be thankful — I am thankful every single day for the blessings life has bestowed on me.

Then of course, there was Christmas. That should have been an easy day to blog since I always post the same thing on Christmas, a graphic wishing you all the great things the season has to offer as well as a list of how to say “Merry Christmas” in dozens of different languages, but no. Didn’t happen. I don’t even have the excuse of being too busy because I spent the day alone, though my dear neighbor brought me Christmas lunch.

Well, here we are on a new holiday — the first of the new year. I just finished going through last year’s calendar to transfer recurring events to the new calendar, and discovered that except for a few birthdays I want to remember, there are no recurring events. Apparently, I am starting this year from scratch. Not as much scratch as I did after Jeff died, of course, because now I have a home, friends, and a goal (to create a lovely mini park in my yard).

I’ve been phased out of my job helping care for an older woman. She’s okay, just doesn’t need me right now. And I’ve phased myself out of the last group I belonged to. At the beginning, I enjoyed the meetings and the events we hosted because we were a small congenial group of friends, but the group has grown and there are . . .  undercurrents . . . for lack of a better word. I haven’t enjoyed the group for a long time, but I stayed because I worried that with nothing social to do, I’d become a total hermit. Come spring, of course, when I’m outside, being social is not a problem. I have neighbors to visit with over the fence and across the street, and I’ve even made friends with a couple of passers-by. But winter? When I’m inside so much? Luckily, it hasn’t been a problem so far. I manage to get together with friends occasionally, and when my knees cooperate, I even go out walking a bit.

All this to say that so far, my calendar is empty. Not that I (or you!) need to worry — this is first day of that calendar. There might not be recurring events for now, but that leaves a lot of room for more spontaneous get-togethers.

Sometimes I wonder what I’m going to do with all my free time, but mostly I let the days fill themselves. Books, movies, games, texts, calls, an occasional invitation, perhaps even blogging if I get back in the habit. It sounds trivial, doesn’t it? I never wanted to steep myself in inconsequential matters; I always strived for a meaningful life. For now, though, having life is meaning enough.

Wishing you a happy new year and a calendar filled with hope, love, health, and all the good things life has to offer.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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Being

October 26, 2023 — Pat Bertram

Do not adjust your screens. This is not a test. I am really here. Well, virtually here. As much as I used to enjoy blogging every day, I now enjoy not blogging. I like not having to pay attention to all the thoughts parading through my mind, like not having to pick the most salient one or the most provoking one or the most emotionally driven one to explore in a blog post. I’m just letting the thoughts go without worrying about developing them into something worth writing about. I’ve even stopped looking for answers to life’s big questions (and small ones), stopped looking for a better way to be or directions of where to go from here. I am just being here.

I am just . . . being.

Socrates was wrong, at least for me. The unexamined life is worth living. It might not be an exciting or challenging or even worthwhile way to live, but it’s working. I certainly have had enough trauma in the past couple of decades to last me a lifetime. In a way, the hits keep coming – death has recently claimed good friends (and acquaintances who were on their way to being good friends) — but these losses pale in comparison to the devasting grief I experienced after Jeff died. Nothing compares to that, which makes it easier to accept what comes — and goes — in my life.

On a completely different scale of losses, my sodded lawn died this summer. Even though temperatures were five to ten degrees cooler than normal, the sun was actually more scorching, and it burned plants that normally do well here, like the new England asters. My poor grass didn’t stand a chance. For some reason (good luck, perhaps) I did well — and was well — this summer, so I was able to work two or three hours a day digging up the dead lawn and the Bermuda grass that grew in its place.

It was good to have the work, because the summer was hard. Too many insect invasions — miller moths, mosquitoes, grasshoppers that gnawed all the leaves and even some branches off a couple of my young trees and old bushes. Too many wind and hailstorms, one that destroyed most of my flowers.

But now we are into fall. I have learned over these years of trying to turn my yard into a mini park, that of all the various seasonal gardens — from the first tulips in spring to the wild growth of weeds in summer to the colorful fall flowers — I prefer the fall garden. Nothing of course, beats the hopeful sign of those early spring blooms, but by fall, weeds that have been cleared out have stopped growing back, mounds of chrysanthemum greenery have become lush mounds of color, the grass (what there is of it) is still green. The air is still, the threat of devastating hailstorms is past, and the skies are a deep, deep blue. Even better, though hordes of grasshoppers are still here, they have stopped eating everything in sight.

I seem to have a lot of extra time right now — the new grass I planted is looking good, all the plants that needed to be transplanted have been taken care of, and it’s too early to sow wildflower seeds — so I am not spending much time in the garden and have not yet developed a new routine. But there are always books to fill in the time, as well as an occasional movie or a more than occasional game on the internet.

The housework I neglected all summer has even been done. The place is clean! Yay!

And, luckily, I am still doing well. I hope you are too.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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Digging This Summer

August 27, 2023 — Pat Bertram

The slang term “to dig” means to understand, approve of, or enjoy something, with the connotation that one is really into whatever it is that one is digging.

The title of this piece might make it seem as if I am really into this summer, really enjoying it, but that perception is far from the truth. Although for the most part, this summer has been cooler than the past few summers by about five degrees or so, it is still horrendously hot, with high temperatures hovering around 99 degrees. Despite that, it’s been harder keeping things alive this year — the sunlight seems even more piercing than normal, searing skin and grass and plants and anything else it happens to fall upon, even some normally sun-loving weeds.

The scourge of insects has been as bad as the heat. First there was the miller moth invasion, where hundreds of moths descended on my yard and made their way into house. Luckily, most of those inside moths were imprisoned in the basement, but a few still made their way into my living space. The weirdest moth incursion was into the screen on my microwave. How it got inside there, I don’t know, but it sure spooked me when I realized that’s what had darkened the viewing screen.

Next came clouds of mosquitoes. Despite mosquito repellent clothes and mosquito repellent spray for my skin, I managed to get several bites every day. I was so not digging that!

And then the grasshopper horde showed up, eating things that I planted specifically because these predators have left them alone in the past, like lilacs and zinnias. That’s not so bad because the lilacs will survive and the zinnias are annuals and so would be gone anyway, but those voracious eaters pretty much ate my greengage plum trees. There is still a bit of the skeletons left, so perhaps the trees will come back next year, but I am not counting on it, especially since there are still weeks of summer left for those critters to continue munching.

We also had three devastating hailstorms. Luckily, they didn’t do any damage to the house or garage, but parts of my garden were decimated.

The most disheartening aspect of this summer has been the death of my expensively sodded lawn. They put in a grass that is geared for both sun and shade, and since most of my yard gets absolutely no shade and around fifteen hours of direct sun — searing sun — every day in the summer, the grass didn’t stand a chance. Even worse, the devil grass took over, destroying any possibility for simply overseeding the lawn.

So, no, I did not slangily dig this summer, but I did literally dig this summer, spending two or three hours every morning for the past couple of months digging up the dead grass and the live devil grass.

As hard as it is to do the work, it keeps me focused on what I can do rather than focused on things I can do nothing about. Because of that, until this past week, I wasn’t even that upset about the guys that sold me the wrong grass, but suddenly, the job overwhelmed me, and I was a bit peeved at the whole thing. I think if I believed the extreme heat tolerant grass seed I got would work out okay, it might not have bothered me, but I am to the point I’m not sure that anything I am doing is making a difference. Or that it’s worth it.

Still, I have to do something. I do like the look of the bare ground (and the gardening dream it brings of what could be), but unfortunately, I can’t leave the ground as is. Grasshoppers love bare ground to lay their nests, and next year their population would be incredibly dense if I don’t disturb the ground and plant something. Besides, weeds and the devil grass would take over, and I have no intention of ever doing this sort of digging again. Frankly, I’m astounded I could do it at all. Three years ago, my knees were so bad I could barely walk, and this year so far I’ve dug up about 1,000 square feet of weeds and grass. Makes me sore just thinking about it.

This isn’t the end, of course. After the digging comes the raking and then comes the seeding. And after all that comes daily (or even twice daily) watering until the grass comes up. (Despite my discouraging words a couple of paragraphs ago, I have to believe the grass will sprout and grow.) And then, whatever happens, happens.

Luckily, in just about four weeks, autumn will be here and put an end to this summer, whether I dig it or not.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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To Dig and To Dream

August 7, 2023 — Pat Bertram

It seems odd to me that for so many years I blogged every day, and yet now I barely make it once a month. I suppose that’s a good thing — it means I’m not conflicted or obsessing or outraged about anything. What unpleasantries that assail me are noted and forgotten as much as possible. Mosquito bites, obviously, are not forgotten because that dang itch is always there as a reminder, but even that, for the most part, I’m able to note and then let go.

It’s good not to have something on my mind that I need to write about to clear my head, but on the other hand, nothing to blog about means nothing noteworthy is happening. Just life as it comes.

It’s been hot, of course, but while other places have been dealing with record-breaking heat, we’ve been five to ten degrees cooler than normal. No major forays into the 100-degree range, luckily, though high nineties is plenty hot enough. In fact, what grass was left is slowly succumbing to the unrelenting heat. I certainly never expected for the grass to continue to die — not only has it been a bit cooler than last year, we’ve been getting twice as much rain as normal.

That’s just life as it comes, I guess.

My gardening stint each morning is spent digging up the old grass in preparation for planting seed next month. This seed is supposed to be extreme heat tolerant, and it might be so. The patch I planted last fall has survived so far, and looks good. The patch I planted in the spring never did well — weeds grew faster than whatever seeds were left after the birds feasted, and now the devil grass is taking over.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m doing all this work. It seems silly to be spending so much time on the yard, and silliest to be digging up a lawn that was sodded only a couple of years ago, but if the grass can’t survive, it’s no good to me. I considered other options for a ground cover, but what it comes down to is a proper grass for the area is still the best bet. Seed is relatively cheap, can be walked on without damage, and once established needs no more work than the rest of the yard. (Surprisingly, the supposedly care-free ornamental rock and gravel areas are the hardest to take care of — there is always tree detritus clogging the rocks such as leaves and seeds and tiny twigs that can’t be cleaned off with a leaf blower. Even worse, with all the rain we’ve been having, weeds grow rampantly among the rocks and in the pathways.)

There will come a time when I can’t do the work I am doing in now. In fact, I’m surprised I can work as hard as I do — just a couple of years ago, it took me forever to get things done because my knees weren’t cooperating. So, silly or not, I’m grateful to be able to do anything physical. Besides, working in the yard gives me something different to focus on. And — sometimes — it seems worth it. So many of my flowers had been decimated by the hailstorms we had as well as by grasshopper hordes, but the annuals seem to be recuperating, the perennials are hanging in there, and the lilac bushes are doing well.

Because of my concentration on the grass, other parts of the yard might have to wait until next year to be taken care of, but who knows. I do manage to sneak in other chores between the digging. One thing I discovered quite by accident is that any part of the ice plant can be planted. (I’d picked a flower to show a neighbor, and then stuck it back in the ground to see what would happen, and it grew!) So any of plant that gets pulled up as I weed gets pushed back into the ground. Because of this, and some transplanting, I’m able to get the ice plant to spread out even more.

Someday, perhaps, I will have a gorgeous yard that’s easy to take care of, but for now, it’s enough just to dig and to dream.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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Heartbreaking?

July 7, 2023 — Pat Bertram

For about three weeks, ever since my S.A.D. times passed, I’d been getting back into the feel of gardening. I’ve had more flowers this year than ever before, and they were doing well. I especially enjoyed the variation on a theme that was going on in my wildflower garden.

Daisies.

Cosmos.

Chamomile.

Zinnia.

I suppose it makes sense. All four of those flowers are members of the Asteraceae family, along with marigolds, sunflowers, dandelions, and lettuce.

Despite my ongoing frustration with trying to keep my lawn alive, I’d actually been having fun. I’ve been digging up a weed patch to extend my garden as well as digging up the swath were the grass died last year. I’d even cleaned up all the mess in the gravel and rock areas. (People always talk about ornamental rock as being a care-free landscape, but I find it even more troublesome than a lawn. I can’t use the leaf blower to blow the leaves and such off the gravel because the tool blows the rocks around rather than the leaves, and weeds are rampant because of all the rain we had this spring.)

And then came the night before last. Oh, my. Ferocious winds with a tornado-like swirl came charging in, bringing marble-size hail. Because of the swirling pattern, the storm hung around longer than such storms normally do.

When I got up the next morning, I was greeted by an immense mess. Plants were shredded, flowers destroyed, and the ground was covered with leaves and seeds and twigs from my neighbors’ trees. It was utterly heartbreaking.

At least, that’s what went through my mind at the time, but I quickly caught myself. Heartbreak was Jeff’s illness and his dying. Heartbreak was my brother’s struggles for mental stability and finally his death. Heartbreak was losing parents and friends and a way of life.

The damage to my yard was disappointing, of course, and frustrating. It’s also exhausting just thinking of all the cleanup work. But heartbreaking? No. In fact, I’m lucky — my house is fine and the windows are all intact, which can’t be said for everyone who endured the same storm.

On a rather ironic note, I’d been trying to figure out the best time to break up and transplant some of the clumps of daylilies. Apparently, the best time is whenever the flowers are finished blooming, and most of the flowers are gone now, the buds destroyed before they ever managed to bloom. Although I could transplant them now, it’s not a primary concern at the moment.

And on a happy note — the zinnias managed to survive quite nicely. A couple of flowers broke off, but the rest are growing cheerfully.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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Blog Update

June 27, 2023 — Pat Bertram

If you haven’t received a notification about a new blog from me in a while, it’s not because of an issue with your email. It’s that I haven’t done an update recently. I have no real excuse, just laziness, I suppose, though truly, I’ve been anything but lazy. Now that the rains have passed, the days are brighter, and the temperatures are drifting closer to the 100˚ mark, I’ve been able to set aside the Seasonal Affective Disorder that had me dragging for several weeks and enjoy working in my yard again.

The larkspur that had so intimidated me went to seed, and I’ve been spending hours every day harvesting the seeds and pulling up the dead stems.

So instead of this:

I now have this:

The cleaned-up garden is not as dramatic perhaps, but lovely nevertheless.

I’m spending way too much time babying my lawn, but I have a hunch that will always be an ongoing process. I’d give it up, but I do so love the green. And besides, what else would I do? I’m already reading more than I want, and although I’m still playing games on the computer, I’ve cut way back. A few weeks ago when I lost the internet for a week, it got me out of the habit of spending hours and hours on the computer. Now I do other things, like paint-by-number or watch movies, both rather mindless activities. And, as I said, I spend a lot of time outside.

I wonder at times if I have too much invested in my yard, not just money but emotions and work and thought, but when I’m not dealing with S.A.D., I do find gardening worthwhile. So many pretty things to see!

Daisies.

Trumpet vines.

Daylilies.

Hollyhocks.

Madagascar periwinkle.

Blanket flower.

If things go as planned, I should have flowers of some sort from now until the first frost and perhaps even beyond. I’m becoming rather fond of fall bloomers — the foliage is pretty in the summer, and then when other flowers have died out, the chrysanthemums and New England asters take over.

I’ve done all the planting I’m going to do this year, so now my time will be spent weeding, cleaning up all the detritus from nearby trees that has blown into my yard, as well and continuing to expand my garden. There’s still rather a large swath that has never been touched, so I have to dig up all the weeds and other unsightly vegetation so I can plant . . . hmm. Maybe more wildflowers.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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S.A.D. Times

June 15, 2023 — Pat Bertram

I’m not having all that much fun with gardening this year, at least not so far. It’s too muggy, too buggy, too . . . everything. Normally, this is the sort of spring I like — cool, occasional rain, cloudy days — but this year, because of the rain, the gardening work is overwhelming. Plants that are used to hotter, drier days, are growing out of control. Weeds are growing thickly. And mosquitoes are voracious.

This is the first year that my mosquito repellent clothes aren’t working. I decided to make use of this cool, fairly dry day to work outside, and now I’m covered in mosquito bites in places that are normally covered by those clothes.

Well, now you get a hint of why I haven’t been keeping up with this blog. I don’t like to make a habit of complaining, and I’ve been having a hard time finding delight in much of anything. I have a hunch I have a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I usually have to deal with S.A.D. in winter; having to cope with it in a spring is a first for me, but also understandable. With storms passing us by so frequently (even if we don’t get rain, we still get the clouds), the days are darker than are healthy for my mental state.

There is a change coming — after all, summer will be here in six days, and it won’t be long before I’m complaining about the heat. Also, the larkspur are finally going to seed, so I’ll be able to pull them up to expose the plants — both ornamental and weedy — that have been hidden thus far. It should help me feel less claustrophobic. Although I normally enjoy the larkspur, they grew so densely and so tall they formed an intimidating wall along my pathways.

One thing that has pleased me is that my wildflower garden is really taking off. Some of the perennials that never came up finally did, and many of the annuals seeded themselves and are filling in the area with color.

I also found an unusual stray, this dwarf evening primrose.

It was in the batch of wildflowers I planted a couple of years ago, but this is the first one I ever saw.

And then there was this unusual plant that popped up in one of my garden areas.

It took a long time to trace it — most plant identifier apps didn’t know what it was. But I think I finally discovered its name: bitter candytuft. It’s from the mustard family, which makes sense — all the wild mustard weeds seem to like it in this area.

As it turns out, it’s a good thing I got some work done earlier — I can hear the thunder of an approaching rainstorm, and the morning is growing darker. Yep. S.A.D. times.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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Spring of Excess

May 31, 2023 — Pat Bertram

This spring seems a season of excess. There are way too many bad air days due to wildfire smoke migrating down from Canada, and there is an invasion of miller months because they aren’t migrating. (They are being slowed down by the smoke.) There are hundreds of the moths in my yard, dozens in my garage and basement, but luckily only a few in the house itself. I try to tolerate them because they are pollinators (and because they are pollinators, they are a protected species in Colorado), but I can’t find it in myself to like them, especially not in such vast numbers. Not only do they spook me when they come flying at me out of nowhere, but they are such messy critters, leaving their effluvia on windows, curtains, and anywhere else they happen to land.

There is also an excess of mosquitoes. To me, even a single mosquito is too much, but this year there are clouds of them. Normally, I am fairly safe in the heat of the early afternoon, since they are most active in the early morning and evening, but a short foray outside a couple of days ago netted me over a dozen bites. Luckily, my gardening clothes are mosquito-repellent, so as long as I am careful to wear those clothes when I am outside, I am fine.

I’m not sure why this year is different, but there is an excess of stuff (for lack of a better word) falling from trees. I do know the neighbor’s locust trees are raining flowers (miniscule greenish things that don’t resemble flowers at all), but I don’t know what the slim green things from my other neighbor’s tree are. Perhaps seeds. I don’t remember seeing them before, but this morning they are everywhere. Where’s a good wind when you need it? Oops. I shouldn’t say that — we’ve had way too much wind this spring (my hanging plants spend more time on the ground, safe from the winds, than they do hanging), so a calm morning is welcome.

We’ve had a lot of rain this spring, not an excess, exactly, but enough to make flowers and weeds grow profusely. I would have thought that I’d be appreciative of the floral largess, but to be honest, I find it a bit overwhelming. The larkspur, which is usually about knee-high, is almost as tall as I am. It’s growing thickly, especially where the grass died, making it impossible for me to access the garden bed and the plants that are buried in the larkspur forest.

I am the only one who is less than impressed with the growth. Butterflies love it.

Bees love it.

And visitors are awed. But not me. Oh, I do appreciate the beauty, but I find it unsettling. It’s . . . too much.

It’s not just the larkspur that grew more than expected. The lilac bushes doubled in size, and seeds are wildly sprouting. Normally, I have little luck with seeds, so I tend to plant more than is called for in the hope that some will take hold. Well, the zinnia seeds I planted must have had an extraordinary germination rate or they like the weather or something, because almost all of them managed to sprout. So I’ve been thinning the zinnia bed and transplanting the seedlings elsewhere in my yard; although I’ve moved half the seedlings, the bed is still too thickly planted. I have never had such a problem before, but then, I’ve never lived through a season such as this one, either.

On an amusing note, this fecundity has created an almost magical soil. I wanted to see if my neighbor wanted any of my ice plant.

I pinched off a flower to show her. Afterward, instead of tossing the sample away, I stuck in in the ground, and it’s growing. For all I know, if things continue the way they are, the plant could take over the yard.

It won’t be long before summer is here, forcing all my plants and flowers — and me! — to struggle with heat and aridity, but for now, I’m continuing to be overwhelmed by this spring of excess.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

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