It was always Jerry’s.

I tried to leave it alone, even when I learned something new or remembered something from my class taught by the experts. 

But now, without him, the garden along the fence- his garden- is a mess.

Eventually, we learned a secret to sustain our successful second marriage. Or else we came to realize it was the only way we could live together. 

We made space for each other to take the lead. 

My first weak attempt involved loading the dishwasher. I had my ways to get everything wedged into just the right space. With five kids at home in the early years, there was a load running almost every day. Inevitably, after the next meal, I‘d find the dishes rearranged. Soon, Jerry was standing over me after he’d helped clear the table and I loaded the dirty dishes. Now, I suppose his bachelor days honed his dishwasher-loading skills, but I felt judged and annoyed. In a fit of pique, I announced that he could consider loading the dishwasher his job, since he had such strong feelings about it.

Jerry and I just weren’t good at working together on something. Maybe it was from being single parents and having to take on all the adult roles. He wasn’t good at leaving me to work on my own without input, and I wasn’t the type to hand him a tool and marvel at his skills as he built or repaired something. No, coming from a family where my mom had more electric tools than my dad did, I was more inclined to offer a suggestion. Or several.

That didn’t work so well.

In so many ways, we were very different.  For one, Jerry was a man of action, not necessarily one of words. I didn’t understand how much he ruminated and researched a project beforehand because he was so quiet. When he was satisfied with the new information he had silently collected, he began in what seemed to me like an impulsive start.

Conversely, I talked through the process aloud and in my head, I dreamed about it, I sketched it out, and then I charged ahead, convinced that I knew best.

The trouble started when it happened to be the same project because inevitably, our plans and processes would be different. Both of us had trouble keeping quiet with advice to the other once the project was underway.

Jerry said it was because we both had leader tendencies. That seemed arrogant to me. I thought we both were just bull-headed. Maybe it was both.

We gradually learned that butting heads wasn’t worth the strain. So we drifted apart in Projectville and into a new system: I dreamed up the ideas and he made them happen. I stepped into the background, at least, insofar as household projects where I didn’t have the skills or the time to pull them off, especially during the school year.

He was happy to have a project, and I was happy to let him bring it to completion, starting with the nuts and bolts.

And there was plenty we enjoyed together.

When I retired, we began a dedicated effort to working together on projects– or at least on parts of the same project. Take the canning kitchen, for example. We talked about what we each could contribute and then proceeded. He cleared the space while I was inside writing. I did the prep work on the walls while he was out mowing. Then when it was time for painting, he edged the windows and rolled the walls.  We had only our own areas of responsibility, and we made sure to complement each other’s results. It seemed to work.

The garden was another area of our evolving areas of responsibility. My fenced in garden– my potager, as I learned it’s called– was built mostly by Jerry. I created a design that started with three raised beds. He salvaged massive 2 x 12s from a dumpster at work and cut them to size. I hauled wheelbarrows full of dirt to fill them. As the design expanded, he built more raised beds, and we both hauled stones for the pathways between. Eventually, he built the picket fence and installed the garden gates we found at the Shipshewana auction, while I kept up with the planting, weeding and harvesting. We were learning our system.

When our paths crossed with four tomato plants, our heads butted again.

The trouble was in our ideas about growing techniques recommended by master gardeners, when to harvest, and cleaning up the mess at the end of the season. We both had our own bull-headed ideas. Eventually, it only seemed fair to me that with all the work he had done, he should have his own space to grow tomatoes.

Problem solved: Jerry created a small one-row garden on the south side of the tall fence, a place to grow his tomatoes any way he wanted. And he did! Romas, his favorite; small cherries; yellow globe; Early Girls; and Better Boys. He had tomatoes galore, and together, we learned to can them, with Jerry feeding them into the machine and me dumping the extractions.  It was a win-win.

And then this spring came with its ugly events. Jerry was gone.

We had talked about this year’s gardens. He’d replaced several of the old wooden beds. We’d worked together on winter sowing, and even bought starts. I knew he wanted fewer tomato plants this  year. And more melons. And he’d agreed to try cukes and squash in his space after last year’s failure in mine.

Determined to follow through with his plans, I charged ahead in mid-April. As my sons watched anxiously, I wrestled the runaway rototiller and enlarged the row garden. Then we promptly listed the beast on Marketplace. I planted the tomatoes, a cuke, a squash plant, cantaloupe, and watermelons. Even some popcorn with straw to keep down the weeds, and sunflower seeds of varying heights.

But even that little was too much.

Without Jerry to tend the two rows, it’s gone wild. The rain hasn’t helped. Tall grasses, plantain, and stringy weeds I’ve never seen before have taken up residence. Yesterday, after mowing the back yard, I pulled a few, but groaned at the hundreds more left.

Will the weeding help? I have no idea. Time and my energy will tell.

But there is hope. 

Back near the corner, a single sunflower- one that was a volunteer from last year’s grouping near the gate, which I moved to join the row of seeds- has bloomed. It’s facing the east where I can see it from my kitchen window every day as I stand at the sink, ready to load the dishwasher.

It’s a reminder to me. A reminder of appreciating the memories of our life and growth together, of noticing beauty among the weeds, and even of finding the Light that sustains us as we continue to grow in new places.

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