New feet within my garden go-
New fingers stir the sod-
A Troubadour upon the Elm
Betrays the solitude.
New children play upon the green-
New Weary sleep below-
And still the pensive spring returns-
And still the punctual snow.
-Emily Dickinson (1859)
Emily Dickinson (RIP 1830-1886) writes so directly here about the generational and enduring nature of a beloved garden. I have found both great solitude and great companionship in gardens and believe they are a sacred, almost magical sort of place for peace and understanding to emerge. If we could take most folks who are in conflict and let them work together for a day in a lovely garden, I am sure at least some intractable misunderstandings or disagreements could begin to be reconciled. I have nothing but the sweetest of memories of working in the garden with my parents and then having my own daughters spend time with me in our gardens. And like any garden that changes with the seasons of life, so go our own lives from newly planted, to productive to withering and dying. But the seasons turn and someone new, perhaps a child or perhaps simply another generation of people come along and make the garden alive again. This is my hope and my truth.