Mixed Blessings

Nik and his friend, Jackson, trekked to the back ten at the Samuels house, to Aguirre Island, in search of adventure. “Don’t go along the back fence,” I yelled, “it’s mired in muck.” No surprise, 30 minutes later, Jackson found me in the garden pulling weeds. The lower half of his body, coated in mud, made him look like some type of mutant cannibal.

“Nik’s stuck in the mud,” he shouted. “You have to come help.” “Sounds like I’ll need my camera,” I said, getting up from my knees, my hands as dirty as Jackson. My brother Rex, he lived on the property with us, pulled Nik out of the mud before I got my photo. I still have the after photo of Jackson and Nik, mud buddies, grinning; Nik with only one shoe, the mud having consumed the other.

May, the month of mixed blessings, coated in muddy memories, passed with no standing ovation. The snow, gone, the weeds, tall, and the daffodils, having reached out toward the sun, lost their sunshine, their pedals curling, browning, and disappearing into the soil. Nik’s memorial garden, glad of yellow light tinged in blue, erupts with color, the first iris bursting in purple, followed closely by the chocolates, the snow iris coming in a close third.

The garden at the Samuel’s house has passed into obscurity. Every new renter exclaimed that they loved to garden, and of course, would buy the house, eventually. By the time the fourth set of renters had moved in, the garden, once rich with raspberries, strawberries, an apple tree, mint, oregano, thyme, and of course, irises, was long gone, and I no longer believed that they would eventually buy the house. My hope was that they would pay the rent on time, and not destroy the carpet or paint the walls the color of baby poo.

Nik, he enjoyed working in the garden. The tomatoes were his favorite, because he wanted to use them to make salsa. Of course, he proclaimed that whatever he cooked was the very best. Like his father, he didn’t depend on recipes, but rather on his taste buds and his creativity. His cooking palette improved with age, like a fine wine. And although the tomatoes did not always ripen on time, we would put them in pager bags and let them color in the dark.

My kids, DaNae and Niko, and I canned back then—pickles, relish, and chutney. We experimented with fried green tomatoes, turned whole pumpkins into pies, made applesauce for Christmas presents, turned berries into sweet jam.

Nik’s memorial garden is mainly flowers that color my sometimes-dark horizon in a rainbow to remind me to smile. The Samuel’s house has finally passed to the final set of renters. We closed yesterday. A mixed blessing. A letting go of the home where my kids grew up. Joy that I am now debt free. May, the month of mixed blessings…