We are moving in about a month. Our house, the new house, is being built on someone’s land. They tore the old house down and dug deep into the earth.
The dirt in our area is a deep red clay, so the ripped areas look almost bloody. Or maybe that is just how it feels to me. Roots from trees and other plants are still visible all around the property. Though I wanted this process, paid for this process, I am aware that this was a destruction of sorts.
My BF and I visit the site weekly. We check on the progress of the house. As we were walking around the other day, I saw there was a spot where hundreds of spring bulbs were beginning to push through.
I remembered some of our first visits to the site. There was the small “white” house turned beige with its aging. The sagging garage with the tree growing up through the center of it. At the time, I wanted to find something I could incorporate into our new house that was going to be built there. But it was all too new, and I didn’t truly know if this was all going to really work out. So I let so many things stay where they were, and then the next thing I knew, the demolished it.
But now these spring bulbs were bursting through the debris, and I decided these I could save. So on Saturday, we went back with a box and a shovel and I started to dig. I noticed the deep, rich soil the other owners must have laid down.
“They had a garden,” I said to my Bf. I looked to my left and saw countless busted pots. I started to sift through the rubble, wanting to find one pot, any pot I could use in our new garden.
“What are you doing?” My BF asked. I was walking through a puddle towards the huge mound of top soil piled at the back of the house.
“I’m looking,” I said tearfully, suddenly overcome with emotion. “People lived here. They grew things and loved plants, just like me.” I reached down and picked up a small plastic tag, the kind they stick in plant containers they sell at the Lowes. A picture of pretty purple violas. I put it with a sold brick I found. “I just want to find something to honor them. To honor what they did here and how they lived here. We moved in and tore it down and are taking everything. I just feel like I want to do…something.” Tears were running down my cheeks as I continued to walk through the muddy puddles and downed trees.
A small sparrow skittered away from my green boot. And that’s when I saw coral pink in the mud. Thinking it was a pot, I pulled it up by its edge only to realize it was a conch shell.
Someone put this in their garden just like I have shells in my garden now. I knew the Universe and the spirits were listening, and I felt as if my efforts were met with approval.
We loaded up the car with our box of bulbs (which we still don’t know if they are paper whites or daisies) and I went home to repot them until I can plant them back in their rightful space this spring.
The conch shell…I am not sure where that will go. Perhaps that will find a place in our home.
Love and Light, All!