Hello my friends. This grief ride never ceases to amaze me. I live in the desert between 2 mountain ranges (irrigated but desert nonetheless) here in central Washington State, USA. This is my third summer without Juanita. One of our common pleasures was having a nice yard. We found peace there, and worked together to make it beautiful. I did the heavy stuff, she did the beautification, like planting pots and beds with her precious flowers. And she kept them weed free. She always said she always felt so close to our Lord while taking care of her flower beds, hands in the dirt, just her and our Lord having their conversations. Third summer, and I let it go worse than ever. I said I live in a desert. And it gets over 100 degrees here frequently in the summer. That means if you don't water, the plants die. Last summer the noxious weeds began to take up residence here, and this year, the lawn has died completely with some really frightening gigantic weeds having taken root. I'd look at it but with a blind eye. I've thought often how it came to be that I went from yard phanantic to being the embarrassment of the neighborhood. So much so, I well imagine the even the druggies and gang members in the neighborhood rentals consider my yard a plight. How could I not even water? At least last year, I tried my best to keep water on her plants she loved so to keep them alive. But not once did I attempt to weed anything. Why Scott? I'd ask myself. What changed?

Today, I seriously tackled the backyard. Started at 6 am, because by 9:30 am it gets just too dang hot to do yard work except in the shade. And I noticed right away that I was fighting off a sadness just under my skin. But I pushed through it. First time I've weeded. Just one of many flower beds, but it is a start. And I realized that this was one of my final blockages. Thirty years of creating our own paradise. Hell, I even realized I never did it for myself. All I did I did for her (well, maybe the gold fish ponds and waterfalls were for me, but she loved them). And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that really defined my true motivation. All I did, work whether at home or the office, it was all for her. Together, we made such a great team. And I've also come to realize that I owe every success and accomplishment to her (and of course, my Lord Jesus.) What do I care what my yard looks like? I will do all things for others. But for myself, doesn't really matter much to me. So recognizing how sad I became as I began the very long process of making a yard at least tolerable to the eye made me realize that my neglect was really a blockage. My subconscious knew how hard it would be for me, and I just don't think I was ready to take it on until this very day. I also have known for some time that the multitudes of picture albums she kept so diligently through the years is something I remain unable to approach yet. Here kids asked for some pictures 6 months or so ago, but I just told them I had to go through them first, the albums are safe, and not going anywhere. Not sure I recognized that blockage at the time as I now do. 

I joke that I've adopted the Darwinian Method of Gardening. Only the strong survive. So what I'm left with are only the drought tolerant plants. I have one flowering climber left in the front of the house. Everything else, grass including is dead. Even the weeds are having a tough go at it. But funny thing is, that one climber (a Clementis I think) would never grow for the two of us. Everything else in her beds flourished, but not that one plant. It was so sorry looking last fall, I tried to yank it out by the roots, and cut all the dead growth off. I thought I did it in. But you know, that plant has flourished for me. After all these years, it actually took off and had the most beautiful flowers. All I can figure is we must have been drowning the poor thing for the 10 years we lived in this house. I only watered it twice, until last week. So it's gotten 2 more drinks since then. I actually watered it. And there are survivors in the back yard. Her precious Irises have not all died. Some of the ground covers have flourished, others are deader than door nails. And the grapevines planted here by her father 40 or 50 years ago, still kickin'. Not near the growth, but lots of grapes nonetheless. Watered only twice this year, not by me, but a friend. So what is alive still is meant to be. Obviously low maintenance and drought tolerant. Someday, I might even get around to planting a new lawn. Make that some year (maybe). We do what we can, when we can. And when we want. That's our only rule in this recovery.

Right now, I'm focused on reuniting myself with the joys of camping. I was an avid backpacker in my youth, and that is why I moved from Missouri to Washington State to attend law school so many years ago. But the forest was something that made Juani feel claustrophic. She was a flatlander through and through. She tried camping with me only one time, but only on my promise that if she wanted to go home, we'd go home. I agreed, naively thinking that if only she experienced the wonders of the forest, she too would love it. Wrong! She made me pack it all up at midnight, and take her home. Why? Because I made the grievious error of asking her only one question after she climbed into her sleeping bag. I asked, Hon, you don't have any food or candy in your purse do you? Her eyes opened wider than wide, and she said, Why? I heed and hawed a little, knowing I was in deep do-do. But I had to tell her the truth. "Oh, nothing honey. It is just in case there are any bears, we shouldn't have any food like smells in the tent". Her response, "Take me home". And so my love of the mountains took a hiatus. She was way more important than any of my passions because she was my only passion that mattered.

Now my strength is gone, no more muscle mass, and carrying anything other than a coffee cup and a cigarrette seems to be beyond my capabilities. But until a few weeks ago, I had never car camped but for that one fateful attempt with Juanita. Wow. Car camping worked out pretty well, and my dog Blue (a healer) was the best dog I could ever hope for in the mountains. Stuck right with me, even used her hearding instincts to help me up up and down a very steep hill as I carried the car load piece by piece to a virgin site off the beaten path. Blue takes good care of me. She found her element as did I. My problem is that while my friend I'm dating has a larger car, she doesn't seem to share the same Scott's way of doing things. To sum me up, If something is worth doing, it's worth doing right. And that takes time, and I'm way slower now than I was even 2 years ago. To do anything with me takes the patience of a saint, which Juanita had. And that is something I'm not so sure my friend is capable of doing. I could try to change, but I don't want to. So I'm gearing up for car camping with one of my Miatas. Impossible? Oh, how I love a challenge. Impossible, you say (especially if you saw all the tables, stoves, cast iron cookware, etc., I've purchased. I will have nothing but the best camp imaginable. So I've now purchased all the gear I want for glamping (glamour camping), and if you know anything about Miatas, you'd laugh if you saw my piles of things I want to take with me. Never fear though. I'm getting ready to buy a motorcycle trailer to make my Miata camping a reality. I'm getting the lightest motorcycle trailer made (a mere 140 lbs) and it has a weight capacity of 500 lbs. And I've got 18 cubic yards of space that can be filled in that trailer. I don't care what Mazda says, my Miata will easily pull 640 lbs. If a motorcycle can do it, my zoom-zoom car certainly can. So I got myself a shipping crate to measure the volume of gear when packed really well. And if I fill that crate exactly 3" inches below it's top, I've got exactly 18 cubic yards, same as the trailer I want to get. Now my trick is to fit all my gear in that crate, with zero air space in or around anything, and then I'll know for sure if this can be done. Same idea with backpacking, but on a much larger scale. So my backpacking will be done on wheels instead of my back. If I can fit all the crap I've bought into that crate, I'll put my money down to buy that motorcycle trailer. If not, I guess I'll have to decide what glamping gear I can live without. But one way or the other, Blue and I are going camping with that Miata. My friend is welcome to come along, even though she thinks what I want to do is impossible. Now I'm motivated. That's Scott's way of doing things. I'll be the first to admit that my way would drive most people crazy. Funny though, never seemed to bother my Juanita though. She'd just leave me alone, let me have at it, and of course, she ewed and awed appropriately with the finished project, whatever it be. Gee, maybe I can train my dog Blue to be my cheerleader?

So what does camping have to do with the price of tea in China, much less my realized blockage of doing yard work? Easy. The more time I spend on my Miata camping project, the less time I have to take see if my Darwinian Theory of Gardening actually is going to work. There are some real advantages to this "do what I want, when I want" solo lifestyle. If I can't have what I once had with Juanita, I will have whatever it is that tickles my fancy at any given point in time. For the first time in my life, I am being selfish. I've earned it. May God bless and comfort us all. ~~~ Scottie