Our
backyard butts up against the long side of a backyard of a retired couple that
lives around the corner. The two yards are divided by a waist-high fence and a straggly
row of Mock Oranges. The retired gentleman, Charlie, is in his 70’s, suffers
the damage done by a stroke, and yet is an extreme gardener. He’s usually out
there all the time, keeping things in line. I have never seen a neater garden.
Grizzled and I love to garden as well, but we usually run short on time and the
weeds get the upper hand. We’re also big on letting volunteers grow. You never
know what’s going to pop up. We’ve had the errant tomatoes, a volunteer
celosia, a marigold that grew out of a crack between our driveway and our porch,
just to name a few. I like seeing what botanical presents I might get. Charlie
is not like this. If he didn’t plant it, it doesn’t stay. There are no weeds
that my eye can discern in Charlie’s yard, there are no plants growing beyond
their allotted space.
Since
Charlie is often in his backyard and I am in mine, we chat over the fence.
Sometimes this means meeting in the middle of the mock oranges, sometimes it
means finding an open spot over the raspberries. He eyes our yard and you can
pick up a little bit of disapproval. I mentioned one year that we were canning
tomato sauce, a tradition from Grizzled’s youth, and he bellowed, “You can’t make
sauce with Beefsteak tomatoes!!! You need plum tomatoes! Romas!” I reassured him
that we knew this and were indeed canning the Romas. The other tomatoes were
for eating off the vine.
One
day Charlie showed up at my door with the gift of acorn squash. What he really
wanted to do though was tell me that I was neglecting the raspberries that were
growing on our side of the fence. He said technically they were his since they
came from his plants and if I was not going to pick them, he would. I told him
anytime he felt the urge to hop the fence, he was more than welcome. I truly
hoped he was feeling that spry. I also told him that technically the ones he
was referring to were ours since we had planted that bush and even if we hadn’t,
they were now growing on our side of the property line.
Charlie
means well though and I like him. Since we have moved in, he has bestowed upon
me, many gifts of produce. He has given me peaches from his miniature peach
tree. He has given me rhubarb plants that are now thriving in our yard. We’ve
gotten raspberries before we had our own, and lots of wonderful fresh lettuce. Charlie
liked to give me lettuce. It seems his wife only likes Iceberg lettuce. I’m not
surprised. Charlie would grow all of this wonderful lettuce, but there was
always too much to eat. He knew I liked it so I got plenty. It became apparent
that Charlie not only liked lettuce, Charlie liked me. He would whisper over the fence and motion for
me to come over, always with a produce gift in hand and a gardening tip, maybe
a recipe for the best way to serve something. Grizzled and I started referring to
the gifts of lettuce as the “Lettuce O’ Love”! One day however, when Charlie and
I were meeting in the overgrown Mock Oranges, he asked me if I would hold his
hand. I didn’t hesitate. I grew up in a family full of hugs and hand-holdings,
but as I held his hand, I noticed a distant look in his eyes. He didn’t appear
to be all there. He then asked me for a kiss. I told him I was flattered, but
that I was a married woman and out of respect for Grizzled would have to
decline. He said we didn’t need to tell Grizzled. I told him, but I would know
and that wouldn’t work. I got out of the garden as fast as I could and
encouraged Grizzled to leave the Mock Oranges as unruly as they were.
I
hate to say it, but I would go out less and less when I saw Charlie out there. His
stroke had not only changed his walking and his face, it had changed his mind.
He seemed to have lost certain filters and I just didn’t feel like putting myself
or him in the position of awkwardness again. But the gifts of produce kept
coming. Charlie would send Grizzled in with lettuce or raspberries for me and
would tell him that they were specifically for me and that he was to make me
close my eyes and open my mouth, that he had a gift from Charlie. Grizzled was
usually laughing, but I was kind of creeped out.
This
past year, something happened to Charlie that has him confined to a wheelchair. He has some undiagnosable pain that won't allow him to stand for more than a minute.
His grandson is doing the majority of the work out in the yard, his garden is
still superb, but Charlie is not. At first I was kind of relieved knowing
I would not hear him calling to me from the Mock Oranges, but as the summer has
progressed, it makes me sad. That man was his garden. His garden was what kept
him going. It has got to be torture to not be able to get in it and get dirty.
This
year there have been no gifts of raspberries or peaches… no Lettuce o’ Love. I
never thought I’d say it, but I miss it. I miss seeing Charlie outside dancing
with his yard and I miss my gifts of produce from a man who probably misses his
mind and his body. I miss my Lettuce o’ Love.
Jim was my instructor for two blessed levels at 2nd City and he was a joy. He was so smart, so funny, so fast, so nice. He was one of those few people you meet where you don't feel the need to talk, but you feel understood. I learned so much from him, but mostly I just enjoyed being in his presence. He was a nice, nice, man... a very talented man who should have had a bigger career than he did. 
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