How It All Began
by Colleen Vanderlinden • March 26, 2010 • Miscellaneous • 25 Comments
Note to my readers: This is a long, very personal post. If that’s not your type of thing, that’s fine with me, really. Come back and visit another day and we’ll talk tomatoes 
–Colleen
I started gardening for love.
Some back story is important here, I suppose. Growing up, I was very close to my grandmothers, both of whom lived within five minutes of our house. My maternal grandparents died within ten months of each other, something that shredded our already-messed up family situation. But I had someone in my life who loved me, listened to me, taught me things like how to fry a chicken and how to make really good pancakes, and that all of my feelings, whether they were anger, or loneliness, or sadness, were valid and important. This was my father’s mother, Frances. Some of the happiest moments of my childhood were spent with her, drawing at her kitchen table or playing dress-up, or, later, sitting at the table just talking with her, and feeling like for once, I was finally being heard.
Grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer, underwent a mastectomy that failed to remove all of the disease, and went home because she didn’t want to live what was left of her life in the hospital. My routine of spending the weekend with Grandma continued, even after she was very sick. Except now, instead of getting cooking lessons, I was cooking for a woman who couldn’t eat. I was lifting my grandma, who had always seemed larger than life to me, into her bed so she could rest. I saw what happens to us when the body starts shutting down, and listened, helpless, to agonized, half delirious screams in the night. She died, napping on the couch, one day while I was at school. Everything good, honestly, had gone from my life.
I was fourteen.
Where were my parents in all of this, you might ask. They were at the bar. My parents and I were two ships passing in the night. I was lucky if I saw them when I got home from school. Most days, my mom would spare a minute or two to tell my younger sister and I what to eat for dinner. I generally didn’t see my father until well after 2 AM, when the bars closed, and he and my mother would come home fighting with each other, and, later, with me.
So I was alone, and, like just about any kid who’s hurting, I wanted my mommy. I tried finding all of these ways to make her happy. One of my last-ditch efforts to get a little time and attention was to weed her rose garden for her. My mom grew roses along two sides of our back yard, and, with all of the bar time, the rose garden had gotten really weedy. So I started weeding. The first time, I spent hours crouched over the beds, trying to get every last dandelion, every wild violet, and the medic that seemed to be everywhere. I filled several plastic shopping bags with weeds, and felt proud of what I’d managed to do.
It didn’t accomplish what I’d hoped it would. I got a half-hearted thanks. What was I expecting? That years worth of increasing neglect and alcoholism would turn around in an instant because I’d brought order to a rose garden? In my adolescent mind, that must have been exactly what I believed.
The next week, I weeded again. I didn’t know why. I just knew that the weeds were growing back, and I wanted something to keep myself busy. I could have gone out with my friends, who were generally sweet but also generally slutty, stoner type girls. I could have gotten attention that way, I guess. Something kept me home and turned me to the garden instead.
So I crouched in the garden, and I found a sense of peace in the methodical action of pulling weeds. My mind would wander. Sometimes, I’d daydream. Sometimes, my mind would be blank and only the appearance of the occasional spider crawling from under the railroad tie edging would shake me back to reality. I started to notice which weeds were more likely to grow where, and that moss grows in the darkest areas of the garden, giving even the glummest spots a bit of beauty and life.
Maybe if you’ve never been there, it’s hard to understand how welcome peace is when everything else is in shambles. I was dealing with all of the normal teenage garbage, plus my parents’ absence and addiction, the loss of the three people in my life I could always count on, and a few other things I’ll keep to myself. The peace that the simple act of weeding and watering gave to me was a life preserver. Gardening provided sanity and peace where there was none.
That’s why, my friends, I can get a bit passionate when it comes to gardening. That’s why you will never, ever hear me say that maybe people should get a different hobby if they aren’t growing their garden the same way I would. There’s a reason hospital patients live longer when given a plant to care for. Sometimes you just need a reason to get up in the morning.
Sometimes, a garden is all you’ve got.
Obviously, life got much, much better. I am living a life now I only could have dreamed of back then. It’s safe to say that had I made different choices during that time, I would not be here now. I would not have met my husband, who has been the only other person besides my grandma who I trusted enough to be myself with. I wouldn’t have four beautiful kids. I definitely wouldn’t be making my living writing about gardening. I owe a lot to gardening, and have a special affinity for even the most annoying of weeds. They’re what started me on this path, after all. Maybe I learned something from their tenacity and ability to thrive just about anywhere. It’s a good lesson to learn, and I’m so glad I paid attention.
I’ll come back to talk tomatoes, too, Colleen, but will treasure the conversation more for knowing how you ended up covered in compost, wearing out your fingers and writing your Little Green Heart out for love.
Thank you,
Annie at the Transplantable Rose
Colleen,
That was A) a great piece of writing, B) Heart-wrenching and beautiful and made me cry
and C) Needs to be heard by so many people, gardeners and parents alike.
My garden is my sanctuary. For the last couple of years, the weeds have never given up control of it, for various reasons of busyness and health, but even when the weeds are winning, it is where I dream and imagine and where I can go to spend an hour or two clearing my own path through life.
I understand. I bet a lot of gardeners are out there for the sanctity of it too.
What Annie said… with an extra (((hug))) from someone else who found her sanity back in a garden. (Just under different–less dire–circumstances.)
Colleen, in my world, how we got where we are and how we became the people we are is as important as how to grow a tomato. I like “knowing” the people who share their gardens with us through blogs. Thank you for telling your story. It makes me love you all the more.
Colleen,
This is a truly beautiful, heartfelt, personal piece of writing. Like Wendy, I was teary by the end.
Wow, wow, wow.
Thanks for being brave enough to share the kind of experience many of us can relate to and have with our own gardens.
I cried too…
Colleen – we have more in common than gardening.
Thank you for allowing us in. This really is a powerful testament to your passion for gardening.
You and I should sit down and have tea…we share much more than a love of gardening. Blessings, friend.
Thank you, Colleen. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with all of us.
It’s crazy to think that one small decision in life, no matter how young or old we are when we make it, can shape who we are and the person we ultimately become.
I hate what you dealt with, but love who you are and the person you’ve become.
Huge kudos!
You turned the winter of your young years into a beautiful spring for yourself, your husband and your kids. It’s healing to remember, and even share, where it all began. Now you have only to look forward to days of passion, and learning, and peace. Enjoy…
I am thanking those weeds for being there for you Colleen, because now we have the benefit of your passion and your voice.
It’s a beautiful post. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you Colleen for sharing your story. Just another reason never to judge a person by their garden
I think gardens for most are very personal. Granted some do it for show but there are those who put their sweat and blood into their gardens because they love it and love the feeling that they get from making a little section of peace and contemplation for themselves. Gardening is just therapeutic.This week it seems the stories have become like high school all over again. Who knew gardening had clicks LOL!
I think that is why we should grow gardens for our own enjoyment because it makes us happy and we should be proud of them no matter their size or look. If we garden to gain others good opinion of us we would never be happy gardeners.
Your garden is personal to you and you love it and now we know where that love began and what it meant to you.
Thanks again for sharing.I had a wonderful Grandma too.
It’s hard to comment and say something new that hasn’t been said in the previous comments but I will say that who each of us is now is what our past molded us to be. Without those experiences you wouldn’t be who you are today and able to pass on to your children the importance of family. Thanks for sharing your story, I hope it’s read by those who need it most!
Moving story, Colleen, You’re brave to write it, and to share it with us here. You say your garden was the saving of you. Yet, I think we can see the seed of your salvation in the way you looked after your grandmother at such a young age. Your own inner strength saved you; and the garden was simply the beneficiary. Sounds like it continues to be.
Wow.
I totally relate to growing up in a messed up family… the details are very different, but I grew up feeling alone (not having even a grandma) without feeling I had a right to my feelings. And I can totally relate trying to please people who, based on their own personal shortcomings, can’t be pleased. though; in fact I grew up having no interest in it and possibly an aversion to it. I still plan to do my “it all started with a tomato” post. Thanks for sharing your experience.
I’m glad you hit publish. Thank you for for sharing your story. And yes, it’s one that many of us can relate to, including myself.
One of the most painful things to happen to a child is to be neglected and abandoned by parents who are technically present. Wonderful that you were able to save yourself by turning to the garden and your own efforts there. The garden is such a healing, magical, elemental place.
Also it was wonderful that you had your grandmother for a time to love and care for you. Good that you have the memory of those times with her.
Oh, my gosh. Thanks for the comments, everyone. I mentioned before that I kept going back and forth about whether to publish this or not. The two things I kept thinking were “who cares?” and “you’re going to sound like a whiner.” I ended up publishing it mostly for myself, because there are several things in this post that I’m still trying to let go of. I think it helped in some ways, but I feel very self-conscious about the fact that so many people read it. I can’t tell you how much your kind comments have meant to me — thank you.
Annie — Thank you!
Wendi — Thanks for the kind comments about both my writing and the contents of the post — I appreciate it.
Kim — Thanks
Kylee — I agree. I’m just never sure where the “line” is — how much is too much and whether anyone really needs to know this kind of stuff or not. Thank you, my friend.
Gayla — Thank you. Those words mean a lot coming from you.
Gardenbre — Thanks for reading.
Gina — It’s interesting that we keep discovering how much we have in common. Thank you.
Lisa — We should! Thanks for reading and commenting.
Tina — Thanks. I’m glad I made the choices I made, for sure (though at the time, it didn’t feel like much of anything important. You just never know.)
Flo — Thank you very much.
Kate — Me too! Thank you for commenting.
Jan — Thank you!
Lona — I agree. I was very lucky to have my grandma!
Dave — Thanks. It definitely gave me a good lesson in the importance of family. I never want any of my kids to feel like that.
Helen — Thank you. I never looked at it as strength at all. I just kind of did it because I couldn’t imagine not being there for her. I often think that I needed her more than she needed me, even at the end. She was a toughie.
MBT — Succinct as always
Thanks for reading.
Monica — I am still one of those people who just wants to please everyone. I’m starting to let it go (getting older and crankier, I guess
) but it has taken a while. Thanks for commenting.
Sarah — Thank you. Some of my best qualities of my personality come from the time I spent with her, I’m sure of it. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Ms. Colleen, your story is inspiring and proves that “weeding” really is an important part of life in and out of the garden. It’s no wonder that gardening heals so many of life’s cuts and bruises, even when these wounds are deeper than anyone can imagine. You and I have some things in common, perhaps we’ll get a chance to talk in person sometime, across the “garden gate” at a future GWA meeting.
Hi Colleen, I’m so glad I stopped by today and thank you for this lovely post. It’s not often easy to share personal things-but I’m glad you were able to-because I think you have touched many lives with your story. Gardening is truly therapeutic for many of us–and so much more, including a saving grace, as you’ve described.
Hi Colleen, everything you had to endure as a child is part of what makes you who you are. Thank goodness you found peace, solace, and purpose with those weeds, and thank heavens for grandparents.
Just back after an Easter holiday. I am so glad you felt able to post this, and so glad that you chose gardening over the other forms of self-medication.
I loved reading about what brought you to gardening because it helped me to solidify in my mind why it is that I garden. I don’t have the most praiseworthy, attractive, awe-inspiring garden. I don’t ‘know’ things that I can share as an ‘expert’ with others. I simplify feel called outside to get my hands in the dirt (I am one of those that MUST feel the dirt and touch the little growing things). Success is not necessarily my aim, though it is a great feeling to eat beans straight off the bush (that I grew!) – so what is? I think it is that I am connecting myself to the heart of God’s’ creation – ‘feeling’ it beat, hearing it breathe. When I am there, in the garden, nothing else matters. And of course, it gets me out of housework (which I hate!), lol.
I finally had the courage to read past the first paragraph today. Yep, I put it off that long because I just knew it would dredge up old memories for me as well. You are not alone and now some of the rest of us know we’re not alone either. I used gardening as a means of coping with living in the shadow of my parent’s divorce when I was a pre-teen. And yes, thank god for my grandmothers.
Thanks for hitting ‘publish’,
xo