The Gardener
Uncle Spencer Britton
1912-1993
I was trying to think of what I could say that might be worth saying and that somebody else might not say. I thought about bringing in a packet of seeds and using the story that his friend Naomi Johnson used to tell about seeds. And I thought about using something with flowers or carpentry or fruit trees or cooking. It's hard to collect and organize your thoughts about a person who lived so long that most of us can't remember a time when he hadn't been here...and that it's hard to think about him not being around in the future.
Momma tells me that I usually talk too much, so I decided to listen for a while. I listened to Saundra, Barbara, Verna, and Patsy last night at Saundra's; and today while other people were at the funeral home I went over to Spencer's and walked around his yard and garden. When I was out in the back with the baby fruit and blooming vines and almost ripe strawberries, I finally heard what I could say. As I was looking at all the things Spencer had planted and cared for over the years I heard that we here tonight are like the grapevines he was so proud of.
When Spencer ordered his vines from the catalogs that he used to get though the winter, what he got was little more than a twig in a bag. There's very few sadder looking things in life than when the plants you order actually arrive. A lot of people might have looked at the dormant plant and despaired of it ever doing anything; but Spencer had the faith and hope that great things could come from this questionable beginning--just as he believed in those of us who grew up around him. This would be a far sadder occasion is he had not had, as I hope we all have, that faith and hope and promise that a good gardener can bring good out of disappointing or bad things.
Anyway, he planted his vines, watering and fertilizing, building them firm supports that they could grow and prosper on. That's just like he did for us. The grapes will still need some care, of course, but they're off to a good start and can bear fruit and grow because when they really needed help and support he was there; just like he was for us.
Last night Saundra and Barbara were talking about how odd it was that we only take time to reminisce when someone has died. That didn't seem strange to me when I looked at Spencer's grape vines and remembered how full and green they were the summer he and Mark showed them to me. With grape vines you have a trunk that divides into many branches that overlap and fill out the support wires. None of those branches or leaves or bunches could do much on their own - they need each other for strength and support. We're like that too. When someone dies we remember him and others from our past and gather together so we don't have to remember alone, so we don't have to cry alone. We have the comfort of being able to overlap and intertwine and cling together like the leaves and branches that shimmer in the breezes and aren't blown away by the strong winds.
A lot of people have gotten us where we are. Uncle Spencer, Naomi, Aunt Nell, Lowell, Momma Gass, Jack Debusk, Dollie, Dick Mays, Maw Britton, and so many others that we could name for hours: they've helped plant us in good ground; they've given us pruning when we started growing wrong, and a strong support and foundation when we needed it; they tended and cared for us until we could grow strong. Because of all that they've done and left for us we can gather together like the vines of the grapes so that we are blown but not knocked down, buffeted but not destroyed, hurt but not alone. Because of all the work and time that Spencer and so many others thought that we were worth, we can be exposed to all sorts of harsh winds and cruel storms and killing frosts; but because we're grown on such well-built support in such good soil, all we need is a little pruning and fertilizing and we're ready to bear fruit again.
I had about decided against putting out any garden this year. Too much time, trouble, and expense, I thought. But now I've got the craving to work in the soil. There's something in us, something that we've inherited and can't get rid of, that needs to bury things in good ground so we can watch and show the children the miracle of wonderful and beautiful things springing forth. That's what I tell the children is a good lesson in life: a lesson to remember from the garden, and the gardener.
