Way back. At the beginning of summer, I sowed a 90-foot row of zinnias. The seeds are a combination of my saved seeds and gifted seeds from my Aunt Laverna. She has been saving those Dockter family seeds since her grandmother’s day.
Zinnias are easy to grow. The colors, sizes and shapes of each bloom carry an air of individuality. You can’t help but smile when you see a bouquet of color from a garden full of zinnias.
I promised myself I would cut a zinnia bouquet every day for myself. Sometimes I would cut two or three vases to fill my dining room table. Occasionally, I would have the opportunity to gift a bouquet, or six, to others.
Now it’s time to say goodbye to the summer. The days are shorter. The nights are colder. The warm part of the day lasts for about an hour or two. The last bouquet of zinnias is beginning to show signs of demise. It makes me sad. They are done for the year.
With that farewell in mind, when we cleared out the high tunnels last week, as much as I wanted to keep them, the better decision was to get them taken care of in case the weathermen were correct about the upcoming cold spell.
After we made the decision to prepare for cold weather, the U of Mary OT students spent Wednesday afternoon clearing the outdoor garden debris. A near stranger volunteered to help on Thursday. The two of us cleared out the cucumbers from the small tunnel. Later, we connected as my grandson, Oliver’s, teacher happens to be her daughter.
On Friday, two more willing friends from church showed up, and we took down the large tunnel in record time. It was amazing.
Last week, I invited the ladies who helped out to lunch to celebrate the end of the garden and the beginning of a new season. It was such a fun afternoon, I think I will do it again.
At the end of the week, Diane and I attended the North Dakota Farmers Market and Growers Local Foods conference in Carrington. It was a pleasant reprieve from our daily farmer market life as we rubbed elbows with like-minded folks, young and old. It is the end of my public appearance commitments for the year. I’m a little sad, but with winter coming, it’s best to prepare to hibernate.
Here it is, the start of a new week, and I did not post last week because the outdoor work took precedence. So, I owe you all two posts this week. I’ll see if it happens.
A new week means new tasks to prepare for winter.
In the meantime, it’s rather lovely out this morning. The rain makes the air smell so clean, and there’s very little wind. Here we are past the middle mark of October and still experiencing the most amazing weather.
It’s a little difficult to enjoy the turning of the seasons with the upcoming and dreaded week of scans. With scans comes scanxiety — the uneasiness associated with waiting for the results of cancer scans.
In 12 days, I will be early Monday morning, Nov. 3, entering the dreaded MRI tube. It’s time for the six-month brain scan. This is the most important scan of the past three years. If I pass this scan with no new evidence of disease (my fiancé NED), Dr. Pollack will release me to my local care team until sometime in the future when I need him again.
I will miss Dr. Pollack should he say, “You are good. Go home. I don’t want to see you again unless something changes. Your scan looks good.”
However, if the opposite is true, I ponder what happens if my disease has moved forward. That scenario causes me some anxiety at this time in my life. A new treatment plan, coupled with some overwhelming decisions to make about my future, makes me a little anxious.
Today, I will push those negative thoughts out and concentrate on the next best thing to do. All I can do is trust in God’s plan for my life and believe what my friend Karen told me in church one day, “God won’t call you home until it’s your time.”
A simple statement and one that is true of each and every one of us. Whether cancer or some other chronic disease, an accident or a natural passing, not one of us will escape the day we are released from this life and enter the next.
Like the passing of the seasons, so are we. “Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. The wind blows, and we are gone—as though we had never been here.” Psalm 103:15-16.
Today, my friends, bloom like a cheerful zinnia, wherever you are planted, for we do not know what tomorrow brings. And, tomorrow has troubles (and joys) of its own.
INDYchildrendotme 
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