Year 3, Column 16: GARDEN OF GRIEF…

With Dad at the Master Gardener Plant Fair in Hardin County:  Apprentice and Master.

With Dad at the Master Gardener Plant Fair in Hardin County: Apprentice and Master.


This week, the garden at Groundhog Hill holds little interest for me.

The Zinnias are no longer beautiful. The Peruvian Purple Corn is no longer intriguing. The Pumpkins hold little, if any, promise for future Joy.

I feel Bereft.

The weather forecast for this week is severe thunderstorms every day, and that is perfectly fine with me.

Come, Wind. Come, Storms. Do your absolute worst.

This week, I do not wish to pick up debris, to pull any weeds, to move Forward.

The Bees may enjoy the Sunflowers to their little heart’s content if, in fact, they have hearts. As for my own, I know it’s there, but I do not feel much: Numbness. Dull aches. Lethargy.

This week, and this week only, all Feelings are for the Birds.

As for Thoughts, well, I can’t seem to stop having those. Cursed brain.

I think I’ll feel better soon. I think I’ll return to the garden once the ground dries. I think I’ve been here before…in This Place…..in Grief.

Grief is that dwelling that’s just down the hill from the towns of Anger and Denial and is not far from the village of Acceptance. However, once you arrive in Grief, your ability to see beyond the county line is diminished.

You lose your Ability To See.

In Grief, all sounds are muted. All colors are faded. All touch is unheeded.

Also, there’s nothing to eat in Grief but funeral food: Endless trays of finger sandwiches and sheet cakes. Not a salad to be had.

The population of Grief varies.

Upon arrival, it feels like a Town of One. However, there are visitors in Grief who have stayed for quite a long time, and only since my arrival, did I realize where these people whom I see every day actually dwell.

In Grief, you are isolated from another. Compassion, Empathy, and Love are powerless. Grief can trap You, ensnare You, immobilize You.

I know from past experience that the best way to get the hell out of Grief is to just sit there for a bit. To not resist. To feel what you feel.

If you are among the Lucky, time spent in Grief does not last.

Love. Love lasts.

More later.

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About GroundHog Hill

Splitting my time between my home in Santa Monica, California, and my hometown of Hodgenville, Kentucky. Spending the summer with my 93-year-young father and writing about our adventures in Summer Gardening for the local newspaper, The La Rue County Herald News. This weekly column is Notes From Groundhog Hill. Groundhog Hill is the name and location of my half-acre flower and vegetable garden which is part of my family farm, Gypsy Acres. My paternal grandfather, Paul E. Enlow, named the hill as such because it was "groundhog heaven." Shawnee Indians used to camp there centuries ago and many arrowheads have been found there while wading in the nearby Main Fork of Nolynn Creek.
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4 Responses to Year 3, Column 16: GARDEN OF GRIEF…

  1. Oh yes, Grief. We all must go to that disabling place from time to time. I suppose, if you’ve never loved someone, you don’t. It’s said, that the best way to get out of there is Time. I’ve found that’s probably so.

  2. Great comment, Darlene. Thank You.

  3. Steve – I have your picture on my desktop – the one with the barn in the background. I know the zinnias will be beautiful for you again, maybe next year. Right now though, I think you need the ocean.

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