Rock Gardens (June 26)

“A monochrome photograph of my grandmother turned up in a shoe box full of odds and ends. Grandpa’s neat bookkeeperly handwriting on the back said 1949. She looked out of the picture from the rock gardens between the cottage and the Bay. Grandpa knew those gardens were among the places closest to her heart.

“One of their first projects had been to shovel earth into hollows in the rocks running down to the water. That shallow, gritty soil could hardly be expected to foster abundant growth. In fact, it was remarkable that any of the stone crop and hens and chicks Granny planted there pulled through the northern winters at all. But mostly, they did. Rejuvenating the survivors was a treasured springtime tradition. Each year, we lifted every one, then put back the lustiest specimens in the concentric circles Granny insisted on. Afterwards came bouts of watering and weeding throughout the sunny months.

“Yet all along, there was no contesting the inevitable finale. By October, our carefully traced designs were bound to have relapsed into their initial state of disarray.” (p. 44)

(Illustration generated by AI)

Granny’s resolution to make peace with ceaselessly returning chaos was as Buddhist as could be, but she accepted the reality of eventual imperfection despite her nominally Christian faith. As with so much else, she had the wisdom to understand that embracing life’s inevitable struggles was the key to true happiness.

Have you known people who shared that insight? If so, what was the arena of their tribulation? And what did you think of their perspective? Explain your reaction in a Comment.