look to the left

My hands plunge into the water. Subtle perfume arises from the suds and the gentle hint of mint and citrus fill the surrounding air. As I cast my eyes out of our kitchen window, I gaze to the promises and the memories we have created in just over a year.

To the left, our garden awaits my loving gaze. Overplanted and overfilled boxed beds have made promises to our eager taste buds. The knowledge that I overdid it, in case I did not inherit my grandmothers’ green thumbs, has been generously exposed.

Slowly, the lush leaves sway in the breeze. The brilliant and diverse shades of green continuously soothe any stray thoughts. It is in their effervescence I feel a nurturing hum stir inside. The cucumbers’ delicate canary yellow flowers appear as bursts of sunshine, while their squash families’ soft and heavily draped blossoms kiss the soil below.

Joy is easily found in the garden. Our diligence has been rewarded there amongst the deeply rooted plants. Slowly our plants begin to climb towards the sun, buds seem to magically develop, and some plants begin to flower. Every subtle breeze and brush against the herbs, fragrance their surroundings.

The sense of being a part of something greater than myself is humbling and powerful. I feel the integral sense of home and connected to the earth and my ancestors in a primal way. The earthy smells are familial, as they are reminiscent of the clay I have so often run through my fingers. I am a part of something greater than myself.

I plunge my hands back into the water and I look to the right. It looks like a bomb field. For months we have been overrun by bamboo. It is a resilient runner and has magically sprung under our carport; it is overtaking our yard, our serenity, our joy.

The never-ending bamboo is a reminder of where our lives have been consumed. It seems bamboo is the bane of our existence. I look to the right and see the hurt in my husband’s eyes, the endless hours he has pulled and tugged the bamboo roots in desperation, and the agony that as he realized the roots have threaded themselves deep into our embankment.

The full days he had to spend alone tackling this monstrosity are not without notice. Once time wears onward during an illness, even reflecting the most mundane things seems a regularity. On days I have a bit of a break, everything I have is given to help and have some semblance of normalcy.

I shake my head to rid myself of the negativity. The submerged bowl has been suctioned into the water. Pulling it out of submersion seems similar an adult being forced upward to breech the water from a pool baptismal. I drift to the left and feel the rush of relief and whimsy.

Tufts in the dirt remind me of Sadie barreling through whilst in pursuit of the latest squirrel. Now that our garden’s growth is substantial, I don’t have to reinforce how to walk around the beds. Although, I chuckle to myself thinking of her happiness as she leapt into the beds to come and see her mama sitting in the shade.

When she sniffs the wind, it seems to entice her to make her way to our garden. What a joy it is to see her innocent curiosity sharing in our experiences. We already know that she shares in our enjoyment of lettuce; it is the bed she visits the most. Sharing our bounty with her and our neighbors enhances our sense of community and well-being. These moments are priceless.

As I thrust the next dish into the water, I cannot help but look to the right. Trailing off has become a common theme, just as my being sick. It has been just over nine months of uncertainty. My illness has been like the bamboo roots wreaking havoc into our lives.

This time it is different. It seems there may be no fix. I become overwhelmed with guilt and wonder: will I be the reason we no longer have our garden and Sadie her playground?

My thoughts begin to spiral beyond my control. I lose myself into the dirt piles, the roots, and the destruction. I let it take over. I cannot seem to escape. I take turns from manically washing our dishes to glazing over them slowly, in a haze.

Softly, a wet nose nudges my legs. A tongue licks my ankle. Sadie wants to return outside. Gratefully, she has broken me from my torment and mulling.

I wipe my hands clean. Pet her head and watch her eager-self break free and bolt to the sliding door. I see the destruction on the right.

Her smile beckons me further, as does the whispering from the garden. I scoop up the ball she’s anticipating. I step further away from the demise and move forward.

The wind blows, and the fresh smell of basil tinges the air. It beckons me and I succumb to look to the left. I set the ball soaring towards Sadie and smiled. For now, I am free.