Bed of Irises
An angry gardener earns a bit of poetic justice.
Her back ached and she tried desperately to stifle the groan under her breath. Her teeth ground together with the thought of having to do this at her age. Some women seemed to adore plunging their hands in damp soil, enjoying the smell of organic decay and the spice of blossoms and leaves. All she got from weeding her gardens was exhaustion, deterioration of her joints, and a rollicking case of allergies that lasted throughout summer.
What's more, the job never ended. All of May was dedicated to clearing away the leaf mold she had raked to protect flowerbeds in winter. She took pleasure in seeing what survived and yanked out the undesired plants as they emerged. Selective weeding always brought surprises. What kind of bloom would finally appear atop this robust volunteer?
Most flowers from garden centers had survived and seemed eager to reach the sky. The irises once again displayed their translucent petals in the setting sunlight. Now, that bed was crammed with grass the former owner of the house had devoted entire weekends to nurturing. She and husband Larry knew the grass should be dug up before planting the bulbs, but the roots produced an eight-inch mat over the years. So they threw a layer of soil over the thick sod and planted the iris bulbs on top.
After one day of mowing the entire acre's collection of grassy plots, including a steep hillside that required teamwork to lower and raise the mower with a rope, Larry had parked his brand new, over-the-top-fancy lawn mower in the garage and turned off most of the water system to let the grass die. He announced there were other things he'd rather do with his precious weekends. When a car paused in front of the house one day, Larry dragged the mower out to neaten the few lawns that remained.
"That was probably the previous owner checking up on how we're taking care of things," he gasped in embarrassment. It was true. The place had acquired a shabby look of abandon compared to the tightly groomed acre they had purchased a decade ago.
"Too bad we didn't plant the irises out here for all to see," she replied. "They're magnificent. I must say, spreading your father's ashes over that bed was the best fertilizer you could use." She forced a smile as Larry heartily agreed. Your dad was always full of shit anyway, she thought as she left him to his mowing.
As she pried a massive clot of bunch grass with the trowel, she remembered how insulting Martin had been. Her first meeting with the man began with a dismissive grunt as she offered her hand to shake his. Through that whole evening, he glared at her whenever she spoke as he conversed solely with his son. What's more, he held this meeting at his daughter's upscale restaurant, knowing the maître'd would simper like a slave to satisfy his demands, and never hand him a bill for the feast. He would gain status points free of charge to put this threat to his son's future in her place.
The mood set at that dinner continued through every family gathering. She was nothing more than the cook of a mediocre dinner and the wrangler of Martin's seventh grandchild, in whom he barely feigned interest. Almost every time they visited him, or he invited himself to dinner, he would let her know how deficient she was, especially since his own daughters were wealthy and elegant. How could she even compete with them?
Finally, Larry surprised her with a story about how Martin had praised her for her support of his long-distance commutes away from home. Larry would spend the workweek in the Bay Area while she handled blizzards and their adolescent daughter while working a part-time job in their mountain home.
"You think that first wife of yours would've held up all alone up there?" the old man asked his son.
"Why don't you tell her all this directly, Dad," Larry chuckled in her defense. "She'd love to hear that from you." Martin refused, embarrassed at the prospect of revealing a positive thought. It just wasn't in his cowboy upbringing.
She massaged her fingers and palms. This bed had to get finished today. She'd started this chore a few days ago and was running out of steam, but today was the day! Even if it killed her, she would get it done!
Troweling yet another root-bound clump of grass, she pulled with such vigor that she shot backward, knocking her head against the ship-lapped siding of the house. Her head throbbed with the impact and her eyes blurred and teared up for a few minutes. Sitting there in the graveled walkway, she slowly regained her senses. The pain subsided to a dull throb.
"Martin, I hope you appreciate my efforts to make your final resting place clean and beautiful. Granted, I'm doing this mainly for Larry, you old …." Jabbing the earth again with the trowel, she almost felt like pounding the dirt with her fists as memories flooded over her. Who did he think he was treating her like something picked up on the bottom of his shoe?
Apparently, he believed Larry had, for a second time, married a woman that was far below his social level. While Martin claimed to have descended from European royalty, Larry had joked the only throne he could offer her was an American Standard. That was one of the many reasons she married her humorous and geeky man. He was her joy and best friend and she pledged to keep her rage to herself. About 75% of the time she succeeded and apologized for the other twenty-five.
This garden, though, was Larry's idea when he'd received a portion of Martin's ashes from his sister. He set up a cute little Chinese lantern tower in the middle of the garden to hold the ashes. It could only hold a few tablespoons, though.
"What can we do with the rest of this?" He held up a one-gallon plastic bag of gritty cremains.
"Throw him on the irises. He'll have a good view of the airport from there."
Larry laughed at her reference to Martin's air force days and opened the bag. Grey dust and tiny chunks of Martin spilled across the bed, some powdering the green blades that stabbed upward from the ground. For the next ten years, irises shot upward every spring, flaring out with sumptuous blooms that glowed in the sun. She had never seen such beautiful irises. Larry even picked a bouquet of them for her birthday. His pride in these blooms put a special shine on his gift. While she still hated Martin, she had to admit that he finally gave her something beautiful.
An hour later, she had wrested the last weed from the bed. Sitting back on her heels, she gazed over the clean garden, feeling a great sense of pride in her work. That was one thing about garden chores. Hard work brought stunning and visible results. It wasn't a wasted day despite her malignant attitude.
"Well, so long, Martin. Maybe you'll think better of me now?" She threw the trowel in the bucketful of weeds and started to rise from her knees.
Suddenly, the world flashed with stars and fireworks. Pain pierced her skull like a shot with a bullet. Everything blurred and one side of her face numbed. She tried to call out to Larry, but her lips flapped uselessly. Everything around her turned to darkness.
The last thing she felt was the right side of her face scraping against the iris blades. A patina of grey dust rimed around her nostrils.
If you enjoyed this post feel free to explore other poems, essays, and stories in the Ring Around the Basin Archive. I also love to read your comments, so please share your thoughts. Let’s start a conversation. And if you wish to support my writings, please consider subscribing or upgrading to a paid subscription. It’s now only $50/year. Even better, though, I would appreciate it if you could share Ring Around the Basin with your friends. Thank you!
All my books, Paradise Ridge, When the Horses Come and Go, and Ghost in the Forest are currently available on Kindle.
Ghost in the Forest, is also available in paperback for ten bucks. Paradise Ridge is out-of-print, but the Kindle version is re-edited and better quality. Hard copies of “When the Horses Come and Go” are gone unless that dusty box in the corner still has some. A
Book Review of Ghost in the Forest:
"Ghost in The Forest" is a great read! Take note People. If you love stories about environmentalism and nature, its clash with urban mindsets, as well as personal transformation, this is the book for you!
"Ghost in The Forest" is a quick 126-page read. It's the story of Dori, a woman trapped in a mix of grief over parental loss and refusing to accept how her hometown and her friends have changed over the years. Because of this, Dori has become a recluse and a self-imposed misanthrope who finds more comfort amongst the hiking trails around her hometown of Morristown than in her dealings with the raw reality of other humans.
The book, in some ways, resembled Edward Abbey’s “Desert Solitaire” in that the story follows a protagonist's love of nature and angst about humans encroaching on it. In this case, it’s how Morristown is transforming into a mountain biking destination where cyclists run rampant on trails and nature.
However, a tragedy involving said mountain biking becomes a major pivot point for Dori, leading to a series of events that eventually bring about personal evolution and discovery.
If you're a nature lover, this book is a must-read. It beautifully portrays the clash between environmentalism and urban mindsets and the journey of personal transformation. The book's vivid descriptions of nature and the protagonist's love for it will surely intrigue you.
Paradise Ridge Review by western author D. B. Jackson:
If you draw circle roughly around an area that includes northern Nevada, southern Oregon, and southern Idaho, within that circle exists a culture and people who live a lifestyle largely untouched by modern values. These are the "buckaroos" and Basque characters author Sue Cauhape brings to life in her literary novel, "Paradise Ridge".
Leandro, the illegitimate seventh son of patriarch Xavier Arriaga and his mistress, Gisela, is at the center of this intriguing story that travels exceedingly successfully at both the personal level of the characters, as well as the compelling level where the story is told.
Cauhape writes in a literary style that reminds me of Annie Poulx. Paradise Ridge, on the surface, appears to be an upscale Western novel...once inside the pages, you will soon discover a potential classic waiting to be discovered.
I rated this book a 5...because that's all the stars there were.
Dirty hands usually clean up pretty well. Dirty souls, not so much. Dirty hands protect against dirty souls!
Wow! Martin had the last word, the old goat! I wonder if his daughter-in-law was going to join him in his eternal flowerbed? Poor Larry. Great story, Sue!! Definitely one for for the season!!