Yesterday I suffered a tragedy. Not quite as big as when our cat Loki passed away in October, but still enough to cause sadness and depression.
Our rental complex has never taken issue with my garden, aside from the one time winter ice broke my little wooden fences. I take pride in my garden and love to sit on my patio, hidden by my lilac and Rose of Sharon.
Yesterday, those two were cut down to prepare for new siding. There are plenty of trees next to the townhouses that were untouched during the siding installation, but not mine. Mine were “in the way” and had to go. No one else lost their trees or bushes—just me.
The siding installation has been an ongoing project for a few years. It isn’t a proper installation—it’s cheap siding placed over rotting wood. Some apartments had birds trapped in the walls, sealed in by careless construction workers. I fear we may have that too, but perhaps the finches living in the bedroom wall will vacate when the pounding starts.
I had concerns about my rhododendron in the corner of the garden because of the scaffolding. I still do. But I had no idea they would chop down my beautiful flowering bushes. My Blue Chiffon Rose of Sharon, with its double blooms cherished by bumblebees, and my President Lincoln Lilac, with its bluish-purple blooms in spring that give off such a wonderful sweet smell.
Most people would think nothing of this tragedy. “They’re just plants” they would say. The truth is, without trees and flowers, I mentally suffer even more than usual, falling into a deep pit of despair that feels like my own personal hell. I learned this when I lived in an apartment surrounded by just grass and concrete. I enjoy the colorful flowers in the spring and summer, but truly it is the trees that keep me sane, or at least at a level that allows me to function.
When one has a mental health issue, one of the most important parts is to have a good support network. I have never had this, with people thinking I am over-dramatic or trying to avoid something I do not want to do. My plants were a part of my support network—they still are, though the butchering of my largest green friends has tainted my garden, taking away my calm space.
My husband is supportive when it matters the most, like when we lost Loki. Yesterday, he saw my pain and did not question it. There was no “it’s just plants” or “they’ll grow back.” He was angry that his wife had to lose something she cherished so deeply. He is usually the sole being in my support network, with others not understanding or too busy with their own lives.
The siding will go up over the next few weeks (or months—who knows with their slow process) and my lilac and Rose of Sharon should begin re-growing in the spring. It will take years for them to reach full height again, and they will always retain the stumps of their original trunks. The L-shaped bend in the lilac is forever gone, and in my garden, the birds will have no perch to sit and sing and the bumblebees will have no flowers to visit.
Yes, they will grow back over time. They had ten years to enjoy before they were tortured. Ten years of my care and appreciation. The Rose of Sharon will show his anger and grow back in a vengeance, and this time I will not stop him from taking the yard. The lilac will do as she pleases, taking her entire square of the garden and encroaching on the neighbors.
My hydrangeas await this siding project. They do not fear a chainsaw, for they are used to a severe pruning every few years. They grow back the very next season, stronger than before. This is how they have become the anchors of my garden and the huge beauties that they are today. They have trained hard to withstand harsh winters and sweltering summers, and their roots are massive underneath the mulch and soil, giving them strong footing to overcome difficulties.
The garden phlox cares nothing about trimming, laughing it off and growing back to bloom even when not in season. The ivy and vinca vines in the front garden remain in their endless war over who controls the ground below my original Nikko Blue Hydrangea. Nothing can kill them, aside from a mass extinction event or serious chemical application. They provide housing and cover for various outdoor life; a safe space for the creatures who provide a healthy ecosystem.
I had hoped to find a home for my dear rescued rhododendron, but no one will take her. She has been through a lot and is finally doing well, though she is a bit crowded where she lives now. She resides behind a smaller hydrangea, my Forever and Ever Blue Heaven, a gift from a friend, and her distant relative, an azalea from my favorite greenhouse in my hometown, Heuter’s Greenhouses in York, Pennsylvania, purchased on the day I last visited MY Toys R Us.
I can only hope that my dear rhody does not suffer during this pathetic siding installation. Rhododendrons are slow growing, so she takes a long time to recover from damage. She was once a split trunk rhody, but lost her other half during a cold winter. She is a strong widow, but even the strongest of us cannot uphold against a beast who wants to end us. Not forever.
I hope for a speedy re-growth of my beloved green friends. As a Taoist, all I can do is wait for Mother Nature to do as she always does and follow her lead. When there are strong roots beneath, one cannot completely destroy what is on the surface, or prevent it from coming back, often stronger than before.
As always, I take comfort in the phrase that fits my Taoist beliefs and my inner Mandalorian warrior: This is The Way.