The Process
Green eyes? Yes. Green thumb? Absolutely not. My dad was a gifted farmer who could grow practically anything – and he did. All summer we had an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables. Mama’s expertise in canning and freezing extended many of those foods year-round.
Due to Daddy’s expertise with soil and seeds, to this day I am a watermelon connoisseur. When Daddy put a knife to one of the just-thumped and picked melons from the variety he planted each year, it was tasted and judged for perfection. Ripeness. Texture. Taste. If it did not meet our persnickety standards, it would get a quick toss over the electric fence to the cows. Needless to say, their taste buds were less fastidious. They quickly chomped their way through the meat (mealy or not) and eagerly devoured the rind as well.
I may have inherited Daddy’s green eyes, but not his green thumb. Gardens have become a thing of the past for us. In addition to my lack of skills, the numerous critters that share our country neighborhood appear to think that we humans grow food for their benefit. There is one exception to my no-planting rule which has been somewhat successful over the past few years. My daughter Amy gave me two large stone planters several years ago which I placed on either side of our front steps. In one I plant parsley; the other, basil. Italian food is my favorite and it makes cooking more pleasurable when I can just step outside and cut sprigs of parsley and basil leaves. Umm..the flavor!
Last summer the plants were flourishing until the night deer ate both of them down to the stubble. Thinking I may be able to resuscitate them, I continued watering the dirt, and for a little protection, I cut branches from my spiny-tooth holly bush (perennials do not appear to succumb to my care) and placed them strategically in the soil. My efforts were successful. Both plants recovered.
This past April, I ventured into one of the “essential” home stores, thankful I did not live in Michigan. The price was about twice as much as last year, but the plants looked full and healthy, so I splurged. I followed planting instructions carefully and decided to try the holly trick again to protect the plants from predators.
The next day my daughter Rachel dropped by for a visit (she lives next door) and asked, “What happened to your basil plant?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, curious.
“It’s lying on the ground.”
Now I was more than curious. Sure enough, that healthy-looking plant of yesterday was now sprawled out on the ground, wilted and pitiful. The soil looked as if something had dug it up with one fell swoop, leaving the holly branches unscathed. I wondered if the critters had developed tougher skin over the winter.
I replanted, watered, and hoped for the best. I added more holly branches as an extra deterrent. I even left the front porch light on. The next morning, as soon as I awoke, I rushed out to check on the basil. Once again, it had been tossed to the ground. Feeling it was almost a waste of time, I replanted.
When I called Randy and reported the latest attack (evidently the perpetrator did not care for parsley) he offered to stop at the home store on his way home from his essential job. He bought a roll of netting and three poles with which to support it. That night he installed the protective covering. That ended the night attacks.
However, the spring weather was not cooperating. Basil needs lots of sunshine and we were having lots of clouds, rain and even several nights of near-freezing temperatures. On those occasions, I tenderly covered the plant with a towel, being careful not to crush the barely-there leaves. One morning I forgot to uncover it, so it went all day without any sunshine.
The parsley continued to thrive, but the basil showed little signs of life. I didn’t give up and even prayed for a full recovery.
We began to have hot, sunny days. I noticed new growth springing forth. This past week I declared the basil had made a full recovery. I celebrated by snipping a handful of leaves to throw in a pot of marinara along with some sprigs of parsley. Absolutely divine!
It was just a plant; but going through the process of seeing it come back to life, even flourish, was encouraging.
I told you that story to make this point. For many (if not most) caregivers, the process of providing care – tender, skillful, loving care – will not result in flourishing health for their loved one. There will be exceptions, such as those recovering from surgery, accident, stroke, or another acute illness that is not life-threatening.
However, mMost people who require a caregiver suffer from at least one chronic condition from which they will never recover. There will be a continual decline in their health and then they will die.
The prospect of caring for someone you love – knowing they will probably not get better – can be daunting and discouraging. It can also be an opportunity to be a blessing and to be blessed.
Next week we will discuss some of the particulars of caring for someone who is not expected to get better. There’s so much to learn that will make the journey easier and more meaningful.
Caring Quote: Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” Psalm 23:4