View from a Prairie Home

By Hege Herfindahl, Columnist

Summer is here with heat and sunshine and color. I love flowers. They make me happy and I love caring for them. It gives me peace. And to be outside. Finally! I love to sit and just look at my flowers, my mind filled with joy. The hummingbirds love my flowers too and the butterflies. But flowers require work. So I find myself overdoing it. Weeding, deadheading. And moving my plants. From one corner of one flower garden to the next. My perennials grow bigger every year and crowd each other out. Which really is part of my plan. So that they can crowd out the weeds. But sometimes the crowding is too intense; none of my dear flowers getting a chance. So they have to move. Which requires lots of water and careful oversight so that they don’t die in the process.  

People talk about what their favorite flower is. I really like all my flowers, but I must admit I love roses. Mine are in a so-called rose garden. With mulch to try to combat the problem with diseases in roses. And surrounded by a small electric fence. Because deer also like roses. And here, in the midst of the wild and beautiful prairie, they are only deterred by an electric fence. I work hard with my roses. They need to be pruned in the spring and sprayed for disease. And they need to be deadheaded for more blossoms. But they reward me with their beauty. Vibrant colors, but unlike other flowers, each blossom has a unique shade subtly different from its neighbor. And some of my roses have multiple colors on the same bush. 

Yesterday, as I was working in my yard, my roses were in their prime. All of them were blooming and I thought I should sit down and just enjoy them. I can’t really say they smell. For some reason, the only roses I have that smell are some old-fashioned rose bushes. But for all the work I have with them, I don’t feel I enjoy them enough. And suddenly I cry. Great, heaping sobs. 

Life passes so fast. Roses bloom and die. My very dear friend, Helen, used to love roses. Especially the wild ones. She would pick one when she went for a walk along the gravel roads near the farm where she and Paul used to live. She would hold it to her nose and just inhale. Wild roses will not last if they are picked. But the smell! No perfume in the world can imitate their fragrance. 

Helen. My friend. One of the friends I have had forever it seems. We used to have a little group that would get together. Sometimes once a week and always for special occasions, like New Year’s Eve and birthdays. We would know each other so well. We would laugh and some of the guys would use puns and we would all groan. My children would call us “the gang”. But then, some of us moved away and somehow our get-togethers dwindled. But not the friendships.

As we grow older, we will experience pain. And loss. Of family. But also of friends. My first close friend, when I moved to the prairie, was Arlene. When she passed away, way too young, I thought I would never stop crying. Others followed. Too numerous to include here. But now I have lost Helen. I know she is in a better place. Where she wanted to be. With her Paul, who passed two years ago. They were best friends. Always. Soulmates. She cried every day after he died. But he had said before he went, that they would soon meet in heaven. So, when she got cancer, she didn’t want any treatment. She was 86 and she wanted to be with Paul. To go to him and her Lord.

We visited on the phone multiple times before she slipped into a coma. Her last outing was at my house. And she wouldn’t let go of my hand. She told me of all the memories that she associated with this old house. The parties. But also when it was just the two of us. How we never would just chat when we were alone. No, we would talk from the innermost places of our hearts. Our souls. And we would be silent together. We had so much in common. Our view of the world. Our faith and our love of the prairie. 

As I take a walk down a country road, I pick a wild rose. I put it to my nose and inhale the scent. I think of Helen. And I smile through my tears.