Summary

The text reflects on the poignant act of weeding a succulent patch by an elderly neighbor, drawing parallels between the garden's upkeep and the process of aging and letting go in life.

Abstract

The narrative centers around the author's observations of an elderly woman meticulously weeding her succulent garden over two decades. Despite never learning the woman's name, the author finds a deep connection between the woman's gardening and the human experience of life's second half, where one begins to declutter and prioritize what truly matters. The woman's move to assisted living signifies the end of an era, yet her tranquil dedication to her garden remains a powerful symbol of peace and the wisdom of aging. The author laments not getting to know the neighbor beyond a wave and a hello, suggesting a broader message about the importance of community connections. The article concludes with a reflection on the beauty of Mother Earth and an invitation to the reader to explore more of the author's work.

Opinions

The author sees a profound metaphor in the act of weeding, equating it to the process of simplifying one's life and possessions as one grows older.
There is an underlying regret that the author did not take the opportunity to know the elderly neighbor more intimately, highlighting a missed chance for a deeper human connection.
The author values the act of weeding as a form of meditation and a source of peace for the elderly woman, suggesting that such simple activities can hold significant spiritual and emotional value.
The new owners' decision to remove the succulents is seen as a practical improvement, but it also represents a loss of history and personal touch that the elderly woman had invested in the garden.
The author implies that society undervalues the wisdom of the

Poetry, Life

Weeding the Succulent Patch

As in the garden, the same in life

They’ve pulled them all out— the new owners.

Improvements, I suppose

But I can’t help seeing the old lady with her little dog, weeding, weeding.

For twenty years, I saw her. And I never knew her name.

She’d kneel amongst those spindled fingers — grown too tall, really, for that small plot of dirt — reaching for a clarity which comes from extracting what grows errantly in the earth and in the mind.

It was never very pretty, that succulent patch. But I think that it gave her great peace.

I don’t know exactly where she’s gone.

But I wish now that I’d thought to ask the new owners for just one of those ancient plants

before they threw them all away.

There is a wisdom and a grace in growing old. Once we hit mid-life it seems that the “weeding” begins. We tend to spend the first half of our years accumulating possessions, children, ideas.

And then, we hit that abrupt turn-around one day when we realize that we can’t see, with any clarity, through the haze of our attachments. And we learn to let go.

The children learn to fly on their own. We realize that we don’t really need all of those shoes, or books or knick-knacks that we’ve tucked away in our closets. And, hopefully, we learn to expand the circles of our perceptions to new horizons.

I used to watch this neighbor, her focus so intense, weeding her little, desiccated and overgrown patch of succulents, her faithful little black and white dog always beside her. She lived alone. I don’t know the story, but I wish now that I had taken the time to ask, to be more than the neighbor who just waves and says “hello.”

In most neighborhoods, it seems to me, the further up the street you live from someone, the less likely it is that you know them very well. Perhaps that should not be the case. Perhaps we should be more intentional about expanding our circles.

She moved into assisted living, with her dog. That was the talk on the street. I’m glad to know she’s still alive. I think it was getting pretty hard to kneel down amongst those succulents at her age. But I will always remember the look of tranquility that smoothed her face when she was out there weeding her little garden.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

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