November 4, 2011
Me and my Garden 0
- on longing, memories and gratitude -
One day I want to climb up into Mrs. Maple. And just sit there. Be there.
As a child I spent hours in the trees.
We lived in a flat surrounded by a huge garden that once was the garden of the long gone main farm of the area. The city had expanded long ago, but the old trees were left to live. I loved those trees. I still do. Maple trees with its colours in autumn, fruit trees… heaven on earth! An alley of linden trees, surrounded by a blue carpet of flowers in spring, what a joy!
And the hugest red oak in town with it’s wonderful grey stem. (true! – it still is the hugest of its kind in Oslo), saved by my mother when they came to cut it down. She defended that tree, saying; “you cut that tree, I go with it. “ (or something similar) We all loved that tree outside our living room and balcony, the vibrant colours, the sound of the leaves, and all the birds living there.
I used to be in the linden trees. Thank lord, my mother never got anxious when I was out playing. I was the one that climbed everywhere, trees, rocks and roofs. I loved being high up, and on the edge. She always let me do my things, I played a lot alone. Coming home with bruises and clothes in rags, kind of. Bruises heal, and clothes can be mended.
One of the linden trees was hallow. A little bit scary, who knows what’s hiding down there? One day I heard a tiny sound coming from that hole. I remember it took some time until I dared putting my hand inside. Feeling… something soft. A kitten, it was! Abandoned by the mother. So weak, with ants inside the mouth. I cared for it some time, but after not so long, it died. I remember no grief. I conducted a real burial. Dug a hole in the ground, found a stone. Placed the dead kitten in a shoebox, flowers. I sang. Cheerful tones, “Putte is dead, Putte is dead!” Putte was put to rest in joy! A lesson about life and death in nature.
I cared for the small ones in that garden. Saving worms from the rainy wet asphalt. Bumblebees as well. I loved those bumblebees!
My mother loved the wasps too… she had a wasp nest in her bedroom once. They never hurt her. And other winter-surviving wasps at the living room floor, fed with honey water. Yeah… I know, she must be kind of special.
This in my mother I deeply honour. Seeing the value in every living thing. I know she still does, and if she were here now, I would have told her how much I appreciate this beautiful side in her. This; seeing the nature as sacred. Thank you mam, truly thank you, for passing this on to me.
I haven’t climbed the trees for too long now.
I long to climb the maple tree.
I will do some day.
I long to feel the tree and me.
Mrs. Maple. My buddy.
The home, shelter and nourishment for so many living beings.
The guardian of our garden.
-m-
Mrs. Maple feeding a squirrel.
