To everything there is a season.
Tis the season of zinnias and peppers, sedum and berried nandina.
Sheila, on the right, has moved into her 94 year old fathers house, with her 16 year old daughter in tow.
She's only half a mile away, but still...
And Nelda, my sister of 14 years, has sold her house and will be moving to Austin, or Afghanistan, whichever beckons first. Wouldn't be any contest for me. Austin City Limits here I come.
We have spend many hours together in our separate yards, watering, weeding and swapping plants.
I have dug up her Roguchi clematis and a hellebore and transplanted them to my yard. A peony, white rose and maybe a weeping buddleia are next.
What I have also dug up is a deep feeling of sadness that my friend of so many years is leaving.
Just looking over at night and seeing her lights on gave me a feeling of peace. I liked knowing she was home, making soup or knitting one of her endless projects.
We made many runs to garden centers, grocery stores and farmers markets over the years.
We were each others go to for that missing cup of milk or sugar, bunch of cilantro or threads of saffron.
She baked two of my three birthday cakes.
She has been next door while I lived and loved through two different relationships. At the end of the day there was always Nelda.
In the past, when someone was leaving, I used to shut down my feelings and pretend to myself it didn't matter. I was a little soldier and could make my way through anything.
I don't/can't/want to be that way any more.
I couldn't be if I tried.
So I'm gong to roll with the pain, enjoy our last month or so together, and get every cup of sugar and spice out of her that I can.
I'm going to stock my pantry, both physically and metaphysically.
And chances are good you're gonna have to read about it.
I'll try to sweeten the pot with pictures.
