Maggie’s Musings

Still waiting for spring, although it’s showing signs of an imminent arrival. I want that garden in, that tiny little strip of land that sits next to the sunny side of the house. Imagine about 25 postage stamps lined end to end and you’ve got an idea of how much dirt I have to deal with. Not much.

I compensate with pots and window boxes. My front porch is full of potted annuals: dusty miller, coleus, impatiens, snapdragon begonia, salvia - anything that can take a little shade. My front yard, untended from last year, needs a thorough cleaning out. I’ll probably put in some new perennials and add the remaining annuals from the four- and six-packs from the garden shop.

Della used to be quite the gardener, before her vision gave way. She and I went to a garden shop the other day and Della could tell which aisle we were in just by smell or touch. I can recognize herbs and some vegetables, also the annuals I regularly plant, but little else. Della could identify everything in the shop without seeing an actual flower, bush or tree.

She just shrugs and looks a little sad. Then she takes me under wing and becomes the teacher. “Feel this,” she says. “you can tell it’s a [name your plant/flower/shurb here] by the shape. See, it’s serrated and long.” Then she’ll find a fragrant flower. “Oh yes,” she’ll say, “that’s a [whatever]. This one will attract butterflies, too.” She amazes me. Yes, I know she’d rather see the item in question, but since she can’t she’s perfected the next best thing. Even blind, she’s a better gardener than I’ll ever be.

Della also tries to get me to close my eyes and navigate the world. She’s done this a few times, even though I invariably chicken out. She’ll often put a spare cane in my hand and have me find my way around my house by tapping it against things as I move. Oops, that’s a wall. Let me brush the cane against it as a guide. Uh oh! Found a chair, better give it clearance.

I still won’t go outside and do that, though. I’d feel very conspicuous and I think the neighbors might think I was making fun of blind people. Or, worse, they might think I was going blind. Yes, fear and pity. Just the thought of that makes me understand exactly what Della has to deal with every day she’s out in the world.

So, we sit on lawn furniture at the garden shop, chatting about this and that. Della inspects my selection, making sure the lucky winners are the best they can be. She sighs as she smells the fragrant shop and hears the other customers talking quietly among themselves. “Ready to go?” I ask her, reaching for the low cart full of flowers, herbs and vegetables.

“Yes,” she says. “But did you get the fertilizer too?”

Ooops. That Della. She got me again. “Back we go!” I say, and Della smiles.