Love-in-a-Mist

By Mimi Hedl

When I’m out in the Cottage Garden, near the bird bath, I think of a neighbor and friend who died from ovarian cancer in late July. Over the weeks since her old boyfriend stopped by to tell me she was gone, I would think of her every time I worked in this part of the gardens, or even if I simply filled that bird bath. Her angelic, kind face would smile at me and she’d say good morning, her eyes would twinkle. I’d find a lump in my throat and not be able to speak for a while. On this particular morning I hung my head in quiet meditation and gave my thoughts to Patty.

Brother Cadfael must’ve felt my distress as he walked over to the Cottage Garden and greeted me. He motioned to the bench in the shade by the sassafras tree and asked if I’d like to sit there with him. I closed my eyes and nodded. He remained respectful of silence. He let me be and eventually the beauty and coolness of the early morning comforted me, as did his presence.

Then I told him Patty had died 6 weeks after she came to visit after an absence of many years. Her cancer had aged her, taken all her hair, made it almost impossible for her to walk. She and I had sat on the bench under the sycamore tree while she told me her story. She’d driven out to see the horses, down the road where she used to live, and to see me. She couldn’t eat anything solid until they removed the blockage in her colon, so she was weak too. She was determined though, to make it to her granddaughter’s graduation.

I knew I was in the presence of someone in serious trouble. We were neighbors for many years, visiting now and then. Her children would come up to talk with Ron and me. Somehow, we loomed large in her life. The only comfort I could give her before her surgery was to listen and then to write her when she went to her daughter’s after surgery. We hugged when she left and she smiled that look of an angel. I keep that with me.

After my story, I told Brother Cadfael,  “I want to celebrate Patty. She had a difficult life and still managed to find happiness.”  After a long pause, he said, “It’s seems only fitting that you choose a flower so that every time it blooms, you’ll think of her.” I blushed. Of course, that’s what I do. I grow things. I think of so many friends, now long gone, who gave me seed or a start of a plant and indeed, they live in the gardens. I guess sadness can cloud the mind.  “Yes, and I know just the flower I’ll choose. It’s called love-in-a-mist, nigella. There’s one species, nigella sativa,  called black cumin. Maybe you know it Brother Cadfael. It’s been around since the time of Tutankhamen, even found in his tomb! I use it in Indian cooking and it has many medicinal qualities too. It’s a blue flower, perfect for Patty.”

Brother Cadfael laughed. “Yes, I know the lovely flower. I haven’t seen it since my roving youth when I traveled to Greece and Arabia. Though maybe I spied some in your culinary garden,” he said with a wink.  “Perhaps you could share some seed with me? I’d like to have some in my garden too. Then I’ll remember this summer morning when we had this visit.” I felt touched beyond words. “Of course, I have fresh seed in the house.” He slowly rose and walked back to his garden, nodding his head at me and smiling, not an angelic smile, but the kind, rich smile of a man who has traveled the globe, seen much, done much, and still gracious enough to help out a sad gardener on a summer morn.

Revived from our talk, I realized the importance of sharing sadness. We carry it around; it can become a troublesome burden. Richard Fariña and Pauline Marden wrote this song, Pack up your Sorrows back in 1965. It says so well what Brother Cadfael understands:

“But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows,
And give them all to me,
You would lose them, I know how to use them,
Give them all to me.”

By now I felt light and joyous. The heat would soon come, so I moved about in the Park deadheading the elecampane, noticing the many colors on these Turkish Four O’clocks. How did the Cottage Garden come to have Turkish Four O’clocks? That’s a story for another time.

The cosmos, the zinnias, all so cheerful and welcoming. The vegetable gardens beckoned, to pick and admire, like the Mexican sunflowers, the plentiful black cherry tomatoes and dragon tongue beans. Oh so many things to do on a late summer morning, collecting happiness and leaving sorrows in a safe place.