Your writing is gentle, beautifully descriptive, and always thought provoking. This article did not disappoint. Thank you always for your insightful words.
Our past experiences are often fertile ground to re learn and reinforce what life has taught us. Over the years I’ve re visited some places where I spent significant parts of my past, like my old university, halls of residence and boarding school, and it always leads me to re examine those times. It’s like going back and re reading a chapter of a favourite book. As we get older, there is often a bit more to learn from what we’ve done, but no matter how often we read that chapter of our life again, we can’t change it. The feeling of wasted opportunities or just not being really aware of what we were doing back then, still exists, but we have to learn to live with that feeling. That’s all helped to make us who we are, and there’s only one way to get experience, and that’s to try things, make mistakes and learn. And that attitude is true regardless of where we are and how old we are. Thanks John for your thought provoking writing.
I agree, Alan. We can learn from the past, but we must also try new things. We must carry on. I recall Tom Hanks’ lines in the film Castaway, about how tomorrow the sun will rise, and you never know what the tide will bring.
Thanks John. Your analogy of the garden shows that we can still keep on planting seeds and harvesting crops or enjoying the flowers at any stage or age. Eventhough we have more past than future we can still be productive. Thanks for always seeing the positive side John.
An insightful observation, John. I especially appreciate the image of memory as soil rather than escape—something that can either harden into regret or soften into wisdom depending on how we tend it. The reminder that solitude is not withdrawal but cultivation feels particularly timely. There’s a quiet hope here: that even late in the season, the ground of our lives remains open to new growth.
This piece is so beautiful and poignant. The line "....the past is not merely something we once endured but a fragrant gift when today's air grows stale" is priceless. And so true. Thank you for sharing your gift.
A long time ago, I read a quote, of how our past is the map, we look at it now, and we see the possibilities for the future. I think I like your inside garden even better - it does not ask us to study it or to go somewhere, it is just like there might be a bench under the next tree where to sit on. This must be one of your loveliest posts since I have been reading, probably because I, too, am at that stage in life. Thank you!
Bruce-As I recall, Springsteen’s “Secret Garden” song was about guarded love. A place to retreat to, and hold back, as in emotional distance. Thus, our secret gardens can be a place of sanctuary, or a place of emotional confinement. I think the healthiest approach is to use our secret garden for restoration, reflection, healing, and renewal. Thanks for your comment.
This is just beautiful. So much to love and think about. I especially love “we carry our winters with us” and “but we also carry seeds.” Thank you for your wise and kind words.
death and new growth happen simultaneously as well as new combinations which increase the production of our gardens - looking back allows us a chance to add something new that we may have considered before but had not yet remembered to plant - life continues and may always produce anew
John, again you speak to the inner recesses of my memory. My dad was like that man in the garden center. Vegetables and flowers he touched similarly. I don’t remember him buying flowers for my mom. But from both their parents he brought home and planted Iris and peonies. For her birthday later in life he planted in October the pink tulips all along the side walk and the steps to the house. Of course they arrived to show her every spring of his thoughts. He gardened most of his life introducing us to many interesting varieties of veggie’s and fruits. Thank you for this trip down memory lane. The last flowers for him was from us a planter of pink tulips that I replanted at my home. Each spring a reminder. Paula
What a beautiful thing your father did, Paula, planting those pink tulips for your mother. He reminds me of the husband in a short story I wrote “The Flower Thief” (in my book “An Artful Life”) who cuts and collects flowers from gardens to bring to his wife, who suffers from dementia. Thanks for reading, and may those tulips each spring bring sweet memories of your father.
Another thing this story reminded me of is Eric Carle‘s book “Frederick.” I’ve bought this book for a few friends who are great storytellers to celebrate the gifts they bring at difficult moments.
As a person in your 90s, Shirley, you must be carrying the most beautiful and expansive garden. May it continue to bring joy and sweet memories and ongoing inspirations. Thanks for your comment.
As I am sitting in my spring garden, it freshens my soul. It’s always a sweet place to reflect and gain life’s perspective for another day. I am grateful.
My thoughts drift to the newly erupted seeds with all their precious promise of stepping into my Eden again.
I appreciate your beautiful words that always inspire me to create. Shortly I will spend wonderful weeks and months painting in my Eden. This year I plan to spread the love, invitations to friends and family and other artists to lose themselves in fresh air and colors. Its my little part of giving back to
a fractured world.
Please let me know how to send a little thanks (donation) your way. I can’t use PayPal
"As I age, I do not mind these descents." John, you have an exceptional way of drawing good and blessings from what too many of us see as daunting challenges and frustration, especially with the aging process. Thank you.
I've ridden that tram a few times. I like the way your photos inspire your stories, John. I too often wonder what people are thinking. It's fun to observe them and wonder. Thanks for another beautiful story of two people who caught your attention.
I like your thought, too, that even now, in this late season of our lives, the soil remains willing.
Just before reading your story, I was looking at a photo of my son, when he was 5, my Dad, and me, taken in 1978, almost a half-century ago. That three-generation photo brings back so many memories. A Kodak moment to be sure.
Your writing is gentle, beautifully descriptive, and always thought provoking. This article did not disappoint. Thank you always for your insightful words.
You’re welcome, Elizabeth. And thank you for the supportive comments.
Our past experiences are often fertile ground to re learn and reinforce what life has taught us. Over the years I’ve re visited some places where I spent significant parts of my past, like my old university, halls of residence and boarding school, and it always leads me to re examine those times. It’s like going back and re reading a chapter of a favourite book. As we get older, there is often a bit more to learn from what we’ve done, but no matter how often we read that chapter of our life again, we can’t change it. The feeling of wasted opportunities or just not being really aware of what we were doing back then, still exists, but we have to learn to live with that feeling. That’s all helped to make us who we are, and there’s only one way to get experience, and that’s to try things, make mistakes and learn. And that attitude is true regardless of where we are and how old we are. Thanks John for your thought provoking writing.
I agree, Alan. We can learn from the past, but we must also try new things. We must carry on. I recall Tom Hanks’ lines in the film Castaway, about how tomorrow the sun will rise, and you never know what the tide will bring.
Thanks John. Your analogy of the garden shows that we can still keep on planting seeds and harvesting crops or enjoying the flowers at any stage or age. Eventhough we have more past than future we can still be productive. Thanks for always seeing the positive side John.
An insightful observation, John. I especially appreciate the image of memory as soil rather than escape—something that can either harden into regret or soften into wisdom depending on how we tend it. The reminder that solitude is not withdrawal but cultivation feels particularly timely. There’s a quiet hope here: that even late in the season, the ground of our lives remains open to new growth.
Here’s to new growth, Ron. Thanks for reading.
This piece is so beautiful and poignant. The line "....the past is not merely something we once endured but a fragrant gift when today's air grows stale" is priceless. And so true. Thank you for sharing your gift.
Thanks for reading, Ali, and may your best memories uplift you on difficult days or times of hardship.
A long time ago, I read a quote, of how our past is the map, we look at it now, and we see the possibilities for the future. I think I like your inside garden even better - it does not ask us to study it or to go somewhere, it is just like there might be a bench under the next tree where to sit on. This must be one of your loveliest posts since I have been reading, probably because I, too, am at that stage in life. Thank you!
Thanks, Ingrid. Another metaphor for our past is to think of it as a book. We can revisit the story and as we age, learn or discover new things.
This reminded me of Springsteen's "Secret Garden." Every once in a while, we get glimpses of our own and each other's.
Bruce-As I recall, Springsteen’s “Secret Garden” song was about guarded love. A place to retreat to, and hold back, as in emotional distance. Thus, our secret gardens can be a place of sanctuary, or a place of emotional confinement. I think the healthiest approach is to use our secret garden for restoration, reflection, healing, and renewal. Thanks for your comment.
This is just beautiful. So much to love and think about. I especially love “we carry our winters with us” and “but we also carry seeds.” Thank you for your wise and kind words.
Thanks Brenda, glad you enjoyed the essay. Here’s to planting hopeful seeds for the future.
death and new growth happen simultaneously as well as new combinations which increase the production of our gardens - looking back allows us a chance to add something new that we may have considered before but had not yet remembered to plant - life continues and may always produce anew
Beautifully expressed, Walter, thank you.
John, again you speak to the inner recesses of my memory. My dad was like that man in the garden center. Vegetables and flowers he touched similarly. I don’t remember him buying flowers for my mom. But from both their parents he brought home and planted Iris and peonies. For her birthday later in life he planted in October the pink tulips all along the side walk and the steps to the house. Of course they arrived to show her every spring of his thoughts. He gardened most of his life introducing us to many interesting varieties of veggie’s and fruits. Thank you for this trip down memory lane. The last flowers for him was from us a planter of pink tulips that I replanted at my home. Each spring a reminder. Paula
What a beautiful thing your father did, Paula, planting those pink tulips for your mother. He reminds me of the husband in a short story I wrote “The Flower Thief” (in my book “An Artful Life”) who cuts and collects flowers from gardens to bring to his wife, who suffers from dementia. Thanks for reading, and may those tulips each spring bring sweet memories of your father.
I shared this with my sister and brothers. She wrote back and I encouraged her to subscribe, I’ve been blessed by your work
This is so timely, since a new gardening season is here, and with that, an opportunity to begin and grow.
Thanks Jami, hope all your gardening seasons bring you joy and rejuvenation.
Another thing this story reminded me of is Eric Carle‘s book “Frederick.” I’ve bought this book for a few friends who are great storytellers to celebrate the gifts they bring at difficult moments.
Thanks for another deeply meaningful conversation with your insights. You always leave me considering my current position as a person in my ‘90s.
As a person in your 90s, Shirley, you must be carrying the most beautiful and expansive garden. May it continue to bring joy and sweet memories and ongoing inspirations. Thanks for your comment.
The simplist reply note. "Gardeners are optimists."
Maybe that's an outward sign of what I carry within. Have for decades... and decades. Others, too.
It's a refuge... a personal one, a literal one as well as any figurative/representative one. I carry it, and enjoy seeing it in others.
Nice to hear your voice. Thanks for the lovely essay.
Good Morning John
As I am sitting in my spring garden, it freshens my soul. It’s always a sweet place to reflect and gain life’s perspective for another day. I am grateful.
My thoughts drift to the newly erupted seeds with all their precious promise of stepping into my Eden again.
I appreciate your beautiful words that always inspire me to create. Shortly I will spend wonderful weeks and months painting in my Eden. This year I plan to spread the love, invitations to friends and family and other artists to lose themselves in fresh air and colors. Its my little part of giving back to
a fractured world.
Please let me know how to send a little thanks (donation) your way. I can’t use PayPal
Blessings my creative friend.
Grace
"As I age, I do not mind these descents." John, you have an exceptional way of drawing good and blessings from what too many of us see as daunting challenges and frustration, especially with the aging process. Thank you.
I've ridden that tram a few times. I like the way your photos inspire your stories, John. I too often wonder what people are thinking. It's fun to observe them and wonder. Thanks for another beautiful story of two people who caught your attention.
I like your thought, too, that even now, in this late season of our lives, the soil remains willing.
Just before reading your story, I was looking at a photo of my son, when he was 5, my Dad, and me, taken in 1978, almost a half-century ago. That three-generation photo brings back so many memories. A Kodak moment to be sure.