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The Custodian

  One of my favourite morning routines is watering the potted plants and filling up the bird bath.

As I do so, I stare in wonder and awe at all the trees, shrubs, plants and flowers that have taken up residence at our house.

Most we have planted, replacing dead ones, and creating new spaces.

Others have mysteriously, miraculously appeared on their own; no doubt the result of a bird or squirrel or chipmunk unknowingly depositing the seeds of flowers and trees.

There is a new Rose of Sharon along the side of the house now, a new cedar at the edge of the back deck, and a couple of lilac bushes too that are pure happenstance.

Numerous Blanket Flowers have found their way into our perennial gardens too, along with Black Eyed Susans and White Daisies; none planted or planned by us, purely Mother Nature doing her thing.

And if these plants bring along a flower or two, they can stay.

And as I marvel at these new entities appearing each year, I humbly realize I am only their custodian.

They neither belong to me or owe me anything.

As I pull the odd weed here and there, refusing to let invasive and obnoxious plants like the Raspberry vines and Milkweed and Strangling Dog Vines have their way, I realize too that I am merely curating a canvas that is not mine at all, not even remotely.

I am here to merely keep it clean, neat and tidy, watered and pruned accordingly.

When the Japanese Variegated Willows start to lean in on the Black Cedars, a pruning we will go.

I know all's fair in love, war and nature, but that has to be nipped in the bud.

Those Willows are growing beyond what was ever imagined or planned or thought, and must be kept in check on a regular basis or Lord knows what will become of them.

We are the curators; custodians of the garden.

We mow the lawn, but we really don't own the lawn.

Oh sure, we "own" the property, and pay the mortgage and the property taxes and utility bills accordingly for the privilege of overseeing it while we are in residence here.

But we do not really own the land.

We are superintendents, caretakers, doing what we see fit and best to make the accommodations as lovely as we can while we are in existence here.

But these things are not our own.

We are merely borrowing them, renting them, temporarily using them.

And I respect that.

Each time I look at our gardens, the flowers, the fading blooms, the flagstones that were once laid with the intent to create a "Zen" path among the perennials, the towering trees that have grown beyond our wildest expectations, I am plagued with the thought that we are merely transitioning through, borrowing them for a time, caring for them temporarily.

I am not heartbroken at the thought, but I am sobered.

I realize the onerous responsibility that has been laid on my shoulders.

As we all should, wherever we live on this planet.

To make sure that whatever surrounds us is the best that it can be; to leave it in better condition than we found it.

To help it, to nourish it, to encourage it to thrive.

To enjoy it while we can, because we really don't know how long that may be, do we.

I know that one day this house and gardens will belong to someone else; I am not a robot and will have an expiry date at some point.

But until then, I carry the cloak of responsibility with honour and will do my very best to love and care for this house and home and gardens and its inhabitants until I am no longer able, or it is no longer under my purview.

Amen.


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