ROSEMARY THYMES | 16
Ancient Horticulturist: Life Goes On By Susan Broussard
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s so many of my stories do, this one comes from past memories. It was originally published twelve years ago. It has since been shortened, then lengthened and a little bit embellished, but it is still one of my favorites. Thank you for reminiscing with me.
When my grandson was young, we had a weekly tradition of walking through and working together in the garden. As always, I tried to instill the joy of gardening in his then young mind. Sometimes we would plant vegetables that he would never eat. At other times, we would take a walk through the flowers that would soon be trampled while chasing the cat. That was part of the process. One evening, a massive rainstorm passed through. More common these days but not so much in times past. The next morning, Toby helped me tidy up the yard. Being that this was a rather boring garden task, I tried to make a game of it. I suggested we may find unexpected treasure under the fallen branches. However, what we found was a dead rat. At this point, let me stop and assure you this story comes from home. We all know that mice, rats or any other form of vermin are not allowed in or near Rosemary Beach. They would not even entertain the thought of approaching the border. It has something to do with vermin immigration laws. Just as important, why was it in my yard? Were not my army of cats supposed to patrol and keep my borders safe from such an invasion. Perplexed, I later relayed this story to a friend of mine. She suggested that perhaps it came from a colony of ‘tree rats’ and noted the information must be true as she saw it on YouTube. I decided to go with her explanation. With that now clarified, I continue. As we looked down on the rodent, the thought occurred to me that this would be a wonderful way to teach Toby about the scientific aspects of the life cycle. I thought I could use the moment to show him how something can grow old, die and still be part of this world. I thought it would be a way to open a discussion on life and death, on life after death. I thought it was a perfect subject for a perfect spring day. Except it backfired. As we brushed the leaves back from the lifeless little rat-tailed body, I began to explain the circle of life. We talked about how everything lives and dies. We wondered if even rats have a place in heaven and, by the way, the decision was yes. We carried him with honor and dignity to the back of the garden where our pet cemetery was
located. (Yes, I have read Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, but ours was not the creepy kind.) I dug the grave and continued with the life after death speech. Toby stood silently as I ended with the whole dust to dust monologue. However, what I did not count on was the trembling bottom lip that was beginning to show. I forged ahead and spoke about the little rat family missing their rat patriarch. I explained about the heartache of a rat life cut short. As I lowered the poor little fella into the grave, the tears began to flow. As I pushed the dirt over his lifeless body, the sniffles began. As I began a prayer to send Ricky Rat on his way to rat heaven, the sobbing reached a crescendo. There, beside the grave, I wept uncontrollably. After a few moments passed, Toby, with the infinite wisdom of a four-year-old, put his arms around me and put it all into perspective. “Grammy, it was only a rat.” With that sage comment, he took me by the hand and led me back to the garden. That day I saw wisdom in a small child. That day Toby saw a blubbering idiot in his Grammy. That day I learned that I was not always the grown up. Fifteen years later, my grandson is now in college, navigating life on his own. He still calls to check in with me on a regular basis. I am now retired and loving it. My garden grows as does the time I have to attend it. However, life, as it often does, takes us in new directions. This will be my last contribution to Rosemary Thymes. It has been so much fun writing for the Rosemary Beach community. Thank you to Kelly Oden, executive editor of Rosemary Thymes, along with past editor, Susan Vallee, for allowing me to share with you my joy of gardening along with a few stories thrown in for good measure. It has been a wonderful experience. As my final adieu, allow me to steal a line from the great writer, Douglas Adams, which he so eloquently penned in his epic novel, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. “So long and thanks for all the fish.”
