A SLICE
OF HEAVEN
by
Sharon Pope
Whoever said that a garden was a slice of heaven on earth was right. Nothing brings more relaxation to my body or peace to my soul than sitting out by the flower garden silently experiencing God and nature. However, it has been quite a journey getting to this place.
I never really understood when I was growing up why my paternal grandmother loved her flowers so much. Granny raised eleven children, was widowed, and learned to live alone on a meager income, all before I was even born. She loved all flowers, particularly the ones that lined her porch in whatever would hold dirt, things like old pots, coffee tins, and buckets. She also loved feeding the birds breadcrumbs in an old tin pie pan tacked to a fence post, which she could see from her favorite chair.
Granny taught me many things as a child, but I discovered in my thirties, after she had passed away, that the love of flowers and wildlife was one of the most important.
I have always lived in the country, but was too busy growing up, working, and being a new wife to notice the more subtle things occurring around me. Ten years into our marriage, my husband took a job that required him away from home for long periods. I quit my job to maintain our home, which also gave me some free time to pursue other interests.
I took some correspondence art courses. Painting from life and taking reference photos taught me to really see and absorb everything with all my senses. Everything became miraculous and fascinating as I found beauty even in old, discarded things when the light struck them a certain way. I loved the imperfections that gave objects, as well as people, character and uniqueness. Wildflowers growing where only God could make them flourish became a favorite subject.
I attribute much of this discovery to my dogs. The gift of a Pekingese puppy right after I quit work gave me a constant companion for almost sixteen years. Kibbles loved to be outside so much that I found things to do to allow her to work off her boundless energy, while giving me creative time. Taking her and our outside dog, Bandit, on long walks through the woods and fields on photo sketching trips was a favorite activity. They played and explored while I tried to record nature.
When I decided to plant a flowerbed, the dogs were as involved as I was. Bandit supervised, while Kibbles had her little flat nose in the middle of whatever I was doing. For two summers we cultivated a flowerbed almost a hundred feet long and five feet wide down the side of our yard. Friends and family contributed many of the flowers. Although enjoyable, it proved to be too much work in such poor dirt, leaving me little time or energy to paint.
I did, however, learn the joy of planting seeds and waiting impatiently for them to sprout and evolve slowly into amazing blooms. Seeds and cuttings given in love by other people took on a very personal meaning, and each flower became a constant reminder of the person who shared it. The responsibility of weeding, thinning, and battling insects, plant disease, and weather was another lesson. A garden is definitely a character builder.
The next year my husband helped me build a smaller raised flowerbed in the back yard, which I could enjoy from my kitchen and laundry room windows. We put in a fountain of running water with sculptures of three small children watching the water run out. We added bird boxes, feeders, wind chimes, small unpainted concrete animals, a large bench, and potted plants. Everyone enjoyed it.
One cool summer morning I was alone and feeling down, so I raised the window and sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, my camera, and a sketchpad. The flowers were in full bloom and teeming with various bees and butterflies. Water trickled from the fountain, and a tiny breeze jingled the wind chimes. The cat slept in the sun nearby. Several varieties of birds busily worked the feeders and chirped from the trees, while a gray squirrel on a limb frantically flipped his tail and “preached” to the four squirrels under the feeders. A short distance away a furtive little chipmunk with cheeks bulging, and a noisy blue jay, were taking turns stealing dry dog food from a pan.
The light was perfect.
I raised the camera to photograph a yellow butterfly on a bright red zinnia just as a hummingbird flew in to pose graciously beside it, giving me a two-for-one shot. Becoming engrossed in the beauty of the scene, the activity, and the wonderful symphony of sounds coming from life going on around the gurgling water, I soon forgot everything except what my senses were experiencing. I felt such peace.
Had the neighbor’s dog's barking not disrupted everything, I don’t know how long I might have sat there. When I stood up I felt like a different person, and all of the tension and worry was gone. I felt relaxed and alive.
My dogs and my grandmother have all passed on, but I feel them with me every time I work or sit quietly among my flowers. The garden, which started out as subject matter for painting, has become a source of meditation to me, allowing me to relax, daydream, and just “be.” Some people would call this laziness. I call it finding peace for my soul, as my grandmother did before me. I hope she knows that I now understand why her flowers meant so much to her.
The quote, “I feel closer to God in my garden than anywhere else on earth,” on a popular garden plaque, says it all.
Copyright
by Sharon Pope
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