This morning I planted marigolds. I love marigolds. They not only keep aphids away, they are edible and beautiful. No, my family won’t eat their peppery flowers, and Ev detests their smell, so I don’t bring them into the house in bouquets. But, they cheer me and make me smile.
This is a poem I wrote several years ago:
MARIGOLDS
When I’m depressed, I plant marigolds.
Their sunny faces nestle in valleys of
Ruffled fringe
Teaching me yet again
To bloom where I’m planted,
To reach to brighten the world,
To search for God’s purpose,
To perch myself where I can see
Brightness and god’s eternity
In flashes of brilliance.
I’m not necessarily depressed today, although there is much to detest in the political world, the hurricane’s devastation, poverty, inflation, crime, and counter culture that is destroying our way of life. We octogenarians remember a far different world where we could openly express our faith and values without being quashed by woke, where we went to school with people of every ethnicity and never though about differences or judgment calls. We shared our ideas, we could be openly patriotic without being labeled or despised, and we could share Thanksgiving and Christmas and Hanukah with respect for each other. It could make us depressed, I suppose, to realize that much has changed, and not much tolerance is recognizable these days.
So, after a summer of discontent on my part from isolation I can rejoice in the little things, like planting marigolds, watching the hummingbirds, listening to birdcalls interrupted by the banging of dump trucks dumping loads of dirt where a new house will be built. We have three on our street, all uninhabited. I hope our new neighbors like marigolds.
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