Eau de Vie: chapter five

Redonner le jardin à la terre

“Tuft of Cowslips,” by Albrecht Dürer

Carl called Kate. What else could he do? Vie had collapsed in on herself, the depth of her inner turmoil like an abyss. Rescuing her from this dark, faraway place seemed an impossible task and one he was not cut out to do on his own.

Still reeling, Carl assessed the situation the best he could, having only just been made aware of all Vie was contending with physically. Thus far, she had gone solo on this long and arduous journey toward what would undoubtedly be her death. Carl could hardly comprehend how she had the strength to do this.

In her constancy, Vie went about her days as she always did – maintaining a façade of normalcy – preparing dinners every night, keeping the house in order, creating her shopping lists. In retrospect, however, Carl had noticed things sliding. His assumption: these recent small deficits were due to a lack of interest, perhaps boredom with her routines. For the most part, the house was clean and orderly, as usual, but there were fewer of her seasonal flourishes. She had quit freshening things up with a colorful addition here and there and had tossed, without replacing, things that were broken or worn out. And come to think of it, meals had become more routine as well, though still prepared to perfection, still delicious.

The garden, too, had become somewhat overgrown, though it continued to pump out a copious number of blooms – plenty, always, for a sprinkling of cut flowers around the house. The verdant greenery hid the flaws, the neglect softened by abundance. The garden never gave the impression of having been abandoned, as sprinklers on timers kept things well-hydrated. It was just those telling bare branches that wanted pruning, and the dead leaves curled at the base of the lilies, and fruit rotting in the shade of the fig tree that hinted at something being off. Vie had left small clues everywhere, but most were so subtle that only her discerning eyes might have noticed. These were not microaggressions; this was Vie’s letting go and rebelling in the only way she could against this thing over which she had no control. Even her creative mind had shifted to her illness. And then there was the fatigue.

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What few words Vie had blurted out before collapsing on the bed after the devastating garden scene had Carl frantically searching the house for clues, anything that could shed light on all she was going through – printouts from the doctor’s office, bottles of prescription meds, a journal, a calendar – was there anything? Where might she have stashed all of this? After an hour of tearing the house apart, Carl found all of it – in the sideboard in the dining room, underneath the table linens: the medications, the treatment protocols, a chart on the progression of her symptoms, a box of See’s Candies. All of this was new to Carl and shocking. Other than her arthritis, Vie had never spoken of being ill.

As Vie slept behind the closed bedroom door, Carl spread everything out on the dining room table, creating for himself a timetable of how things had progressed, trying in the process to get a sense of Vie’s condition and how much longer she had left. The sheer quantity of medications, the numerous labs done and the test results – it was mind-boggling. How had he missed all of this? Vie had attended dozens of appointments and endured an untold number of procedures. And he hadn’t been there for any of it – he hadn’t held her in his arms as she absorbed all of this devastating news.

Carl was left with a feeling of dread and a sense that he and Vie were no longer walking through life as a pair. Somewhere along the way, Vie had taken the exit ramp, unnoticeable at first because the road she traveled ran parallel to his, but over time, the distance between them widened until they were no longer side by side. But all of those memories of the years they traveled together could not be erased - they were deeply embedded in their muscles and their memories, where even the faintest whiff of a familiar smell evoked feelings and images as real as anything in this world.

What felt like a closed fist thumped Carl in the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades. Though the assault was imaginary, it hurt like hell – the pain radiating from his spine, sending his heart and lungs into shock, putting his whole body on high alert. Even Carl’s famously low heart rate shot into the stratosphere as he took in everything displayed on the table.

Carl had, of late, been vaguely aware of his wife’s gentle fading, but knowing this was something much more, a painful, frightening, and precipitous end-of-life experience, was something different altogether and hard to absorb. His heart was racing, as was his mind. The doctors’ printouts laid before him the situation as clear as day: Vie was suffering from congestive heart failure and had been so for over five years. This laundry list of medications, and the instructions for major lifestyle adjustments – no drinking, low sodium and low cholesterol foods, using a CPAP machine - Vie had made none of the prescribed changes. Her eating had not been adjusted, nor was she exercising every day. And, in comparing the number of pills still in the bottles against the prescription dates, it was clear Vie had not bothered to take even one of her medications.

The reality of the situation sank in: Vie had chosen to end her life. And she’d not shared this with anyone, not even the man with whom she’d shared a bed for over fifty-five years.

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What else had Carl missed? He felt there had to be more, so he embarked on another gut-wrenching round of searching the house. And there it was - eight cases of sauvignon blanc, in shiners - unmarked discards from a local bottling plant. They were neatly stacked and tucked into the far corner of the mud room closet, boxes hidden by brooms, mops, and the vacuum. One of the top cases had been opened up and lay on its side. Six bottles were already gone and likely consumed since none lay about the kitchen or in the fridge.

Herein lies the first illustration in the Carl and Vie story—a Venn diagram in which two of the circles never intersect. Carl didn’t drink.

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Kate set out for the ranch, blissfully unaware of the full extent of Vie’s situation, knowing only about the decimated garden and her understandable upset over that. No one had been privy to Vie’s medical situation, not even Carl, as it turned out, and even now that he knew her truth, Vie was still under the impression he was in the dark. Carl preferred it to stay that way, so he carefully returned all of her pills and paperwork and her See’s Candies to their exact spot in the sideboard drawer.

Carl felt it was Vie’s prerogative as to the when and how the issue of her illness was to be announced to those around her. Only she could know when she was emotionally ready to cope with the reactions of her loved ones and the chain of events that would no doubt follow. Carl was tender in understanding his wife, and he trusted her implicitly. If she withheld a thing from him, it was because that was all she could do.

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It was a bright and sunny day, at least on this side of the Golden Gate Bridge, and Kate had a notion to swoop up Vie and take her into the city – far away from the ruins of her garden. A bit of marine layer and cool ocean air would give them both a nice reprieve from what was becoming a hot, dry summer. Frankly – Kate was a bit tired of all that sunshine. Some gray skies and fog would be nice.

And both ladies were overdue for a bit of fun and girlish banter. To have a picnic, people watch, and to work in a bit of walking in an urban setting – that sounded refreshing. A trip to Golden Gate Park was in order. Kate put together a small feast for their brunch - the elements very European: smoked salmon, prosciutto di Parma, and cheeses for baguette slices, fresh berries, a juicy ripe peach, and some dark chocolate for dessert. And if Vie was up for it, they’d follow brunch with a foray into either the San Francisco Botanical Garden or, if that were too triggering after yesterday’s events, then the de Young Museum.

Upon her arrival at the ranch, Vie intercepted Kate at the carport, leaving the gate to the garden closed, keeping the ugly ruins hidden from view. Vie was all smiles and happy to see Kate, though judging from her swollen and red-rimmed eyes, much of the night had been spent crying. Kate went straight to Vie, leaving her car door wide open, and wrapped her arms around Vie’s waist, pulling her in close. Vie collapsed at Kate’s touch, tucking her face into her soft neck. And only then did Vie let it rip – sobbing, and retelling the previous day’s nightmare, then wrapping up the sordid story with a “c’est la vie” – laughing at her own pun, while vigorously wiping the tears from her eyes and cheeks.

In seeing Kate, Vie felt safe. She was ready to move on, to enjoy the day, rather than harboring all that upset. A relief this was to Carl, who observed all through the kitchen window. Yet again, he’d done the right thing, this time in inviting Kate up to the ranch and then in encouraging her to take Vie away for the day.

Vie took Kate’s hand, and then a huge breath, and marched her through the center of what had been the garden, which was now unrecognizable, though remarkably tidy, considering only yesterday it was full of cows. They had been nothing if not neat in finishing off every last bit of foliage, those on the branches of trees and bushes and also on all the plants close to the ground. Tiptoeing gingerly through the smelly cow pies, Kate and Vie headed to the sanctuary of the kitchen. Once they were safely on the other side of the door, Vie took a much-needed gasp of air.

And there in the kitchen was Carl, their humble servant, attired only in an embarrassingly frayed pair of navy chino shorts which was missing its stud button. He’d just finished brewing two large mugs of coffee for them, his timing impeccable as usual. A soft, sweet sight he was with his furry tummy exposed, extending the steaming hot beverages out to them, holding both mugs from the bottom so they could grab the handles.

The ladies proceeded to the deck, where they enjoyed the mountain views and planned their day. Carl hid behind his newspaper from the living room couch, discretely observing Vie’s demeanor, trying to gauge how things might go down. It looked promising – Vie was smiling and laughing, something she’d not done in quite a long while. He’d been right to call Kate.

In a short ten minutes, the coffee was consumed, and the women were off. It was a quick faire la bise from both women to Carl’s cheeks as they made their way out the door; his bristly beard gave both an electric tickle, putting smiles on their faces.

As they made their way back to Kate’s car, the garden shouted its distress at them. They averted their eyes and looked beyond and saw that the mountains and woods surrounding the house were laughing, a secret and ancient I-told-you-so. Who in their right mind could argue with that spectacular beauty? There was not a garden in this world that could compete. The mountains were all too glad to take back what had rightfully been theirs all along – Vie’s garden.

That morning, the majestic peaks that embraced the ranch shoved every bad thought from Vie’s mind. And with her hand in Kate’s, she was able to let go of the upset. This would be a day worth living.

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Kate wove her way through the Carneros District, then Marin County, and with one final push, shot out from the Waldo Tunnel into the welcoming arms of the Golden Gate Bridge. Kate and Vie had arrived safely to the cool and misty otherworldliness of a San Francisco morning. A few short miles down the Presidio and 19th Ave., and they would be at Golden Gate Park, where the day’s adventure would begin.

There was ample parking everywhere as it was a Tuesday morning, so they cherry-picked a shady spot near Stow Lake, and it was on its shore they found a place with the perfect view of waterfowl, turtles, and the bright red pagoda that jutted out into the water. Vie put Kate’s cheerful Provençal tablecloth out on the picnic table, a nice touch she noted, while Kate unloaded the insulated bag full of goodies. It was calm on the lake, with few visitors, so they sat for a good while, noshing, exchanging stories, and thinking out loud about gardens and men – maybe more about men. They both had strong opinions on the subject, one woman with much to offer in the way of action-filled anecdotes, the other with sage advice on staying with one man for the long haul. No conclusions were reached as to which might be the most virtuous, satisfying, or interesting life, but both women considered what it would be like to spend time in the other’s shoes – their curiosity piqued.

By 10:30 a.m., the marine layer had burned off, and it seemed a good time to shed fleece jackets and scarves, and to dump the picnic supplies in the tailgate of the Subaru, then to head into the botanical garden. Both agreed this was of more interest than the art museum. And besides, who wanted to be indoors with weather like this? The thought of emerging from the de Young Museum into the full sun following an afternoon spent peering at art, well – there was an instant headache, and then there was that pesky rush hour traffic on the return with no place to stop for the rest room. No thanks.

It was decided that a couple of hours among the park’s gorgeous gardens would be most inspiring, and Kate had a notion, which she kept to herself, that on their way back, and well in advance of rush hour, they could swing by a native plant nursery in Fairfax. Carl had quietly made this suggestion to Kate back at the ranch while Vie was scrounging around in her closet for sunglasses, and he’d slipped Kate $1000 in cash. Before their arrival in San Francisco, he had texted over the name and address of the nursery with a cheerful “No expense spared - I will reimburse if more money is needed.” Fortunately, the back of Kate’s Subaru was free and clear, rear seats down - ready for the possibilities to come.

The day’s delight in Golden Gate Park was in lingering over the sensory garden, which midsummer was at the height of its botanical climax. This section of the park featured raised beds, the walls done in rough native stones, which did not extend the usual foot or two above the ground – no, these retaining walls were chest-high, bringing herbs and fragrant florals, such as English roses, within easy reach of sensitive noses and the miniature blossoms of the herbs positioned so that the eye could enjoy their exquisite detail. And unlike other parts of the park, where visitors were discouraged from interacting physically with the flora, signs in the sensory garden emphatically read “Feel free to touch and smell the plants!” And that they did - for over an hour, the heady fragrances giving them an olfactory high.

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I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, 
Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight.

Oberon, in Act 2, Scene 1, from A Midsummer Night's Dream

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Next, it was on to the California garden, which was full of native plants and trees, some 6000 species, representing a redwood grove, ponds, and dry creeks, chapparal, and oak woodlands. Vie connected deeply with these settings at the garden, which imitated the natural landscapes at the ranch – the distinctive terrain on each of their mountains gradually filling those empty spaces in Vie’s psyche where once the landscape of Germany had lived, but which sixty years later had all but faded from her memory. It was amongst the trees and plants of California that Vie had lived most of her life, thriving in the same beautiful places the wild creatures thrived – the lizards and snakes, the coyotes, the gray fox, deer and black bears, mountain lions, and bobcats. And like them, it was in these mountains where she found her solace.

As Vie took in the park’s graceful vignettes of the wilderness, she knew exactly what needed doing. It was time to fully let go of her European aspirations and to embrace that which had made her whole – the landscape of California. Her garden would be returned to its natural state. She thanked the cows for pointing out the obvious.

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And of course, Kate did know of just the spot for the native plants, the spot that Carl had recommended. The nursery was on the way back to the ranch, in Fairfax, which was also a great spot to stop for coffee and a pastry. Vie was down for it, shopping for a sweet bite and new plants, that is, and ready to turn the previous day’s bad luck into a directive for much-needed change, not only in her garden. but in her home and her life generally. There was no time to waste. Today she wanted only to focus on the garden, as there were birds, bees, and other wildlife to consider. The garden needed doing now.

After a quick coffee, the ladies made their way to the California Natives Nursery. Vie already had a plan in mind for the garden; the new layout had come to her as they had crossed back into Marin County from San Francisco. It was all about simplicity. Little preparation would be required in the garden, minus yanking out clusters of bulbs and putting the fences to rights. And the fence repairs need only be temporary, as once the new plants were well-established, they would protect the yard and provide privacy.

And so, the women began their work of selecting plants. Once the Subaru reached capacity, Kate and Vie made their way home, arriving at the ranch just before dinner. Kate declined to stay, as she was anxious to get home, put her feet up, and binge on Better Call Saul and Chinese leftovers. And that she did, though she fell asleep midway through the second episode.

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The next morning, at the crack of dawn, Salvador (Vie and Carl’s long-time ranch hand), came to the property to repair and reinforce the fences. As Salvador did his work, his wife Esmeralda dug up the knotted clusters of bulbs throughout the garden, leaving just one grouping of agapanthus and two more of white and purple irises—an homage to Vie’s previous English-style garden. Esmeralda then broke up and aerated all of the soil, integrating the prolific number of cow droppings. The stacks of alfalfa hay, would be applied as mulch after all the plants were in the ground. By noon, both Esmeralda and Sal’s work was done.

After the garden had its going over, Carl had arranged for a tree cutter to come to take down the camellias, the ornamental plums, and the two citrus trees that no longer had branches. The workers also saw to the stump grinding and generating wood chips from the felled trees. In a matter of six hours, the entire garden area was properly groomed, and much of Vie’s mulching needs had been met thanks to the wood chipper.

Carl had done what Carl does best: organizing, overseeing, and then compensating everyone generously for work well done.

That next morning, Kate and Vie ventured to Burke’s Nursery, where first they met, seeking out herbs of every kind and organic potting soil. Upon returning to the ranch for lunch, they were thrilled to see everything in order, thanks to Carl. It meant they could immediately set to work.

That Wednesday, the women potted all the herbs, nearly fifteen containers, before sundown. They set the pots under the eaves on the south side of the house, where going forward, they would have ample sun, with a shady reprieve mid-afternoon. Putting in the native plants would be reserved for the next day - it would take a full morning and afternoon. The ladies rounded out the day by making a rough sketch of their plan for the garden layout, then Kate departed for home.

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At dawn on Thursday, the women set to work. There were over a hundred plants. So they quickly downed mugs of coffee and peanut butter toast and set to work. Vie cued up a lively Mendelssohn violin concerto to get them moving, then both grabbed shovels and set to making holes, following the rough schematic they’d put together. Mid-morning, the hole digging was complete, and back-breaking work it had been. They grabbed glasses of iced tea in the kitchen and relaxed briefly in the Adirondack chairs in the shade on the deck. Within a half hour, they were revived and ready to tackle task two - getting the plants out of pots and into the holes. Once each plant had its spot, they lugged the bags of potting soil down from the carport and set to properly tucking the plants into the ground, covering exposed roots with the fresh nutrients – the soil and a bit of cow manure, thank you very much, then topping off the whole garden with fragrant alfalfa hay.

Though the plants were small and young, one could imagine how they would fill out and begin to imitate the surrounding landscape.

Vie and Kate surveyed their handiwork, feeling a bit smug in having knocked it out so quickly. It was time to complete the final task—thoroughly soaking the garden so the plants had the entire evening to fill stems, leaves, and flowers. Each took a hose from either side of the house, and for an hour, they hand-watered the new plants - finishing just as the soothing ocean air, brought in by the tide, began to fill the valley.

Kate and Vie were filthy, exhausted, and sore. They were ready to call it a day, bringing closure to their work by putting away all the tools, discarding spent soil bags, rounding up all the nursery pots for recycling, and then hosing down the patio tiles. In their slap-happy state, they subsequently turned the hoses on each other – knocking off sunglasses and hats, matting hair, soaking their clothes to the skin, screaming and laughing from the shockingly cold water. Why not take it a step further? Vie threw her tired body down in a bare spot of the garden, in the dirt, and closed her eyes. Kate plopped down next to her. There they lay, holding hands like schoolgirls, in the muddy garden, which wreaked of fresh earth, cow manure, and hay. Above them in the still, blue sky were two red-tailed hawks, effortlessly riding the thermals of the early evening.

Carl would soon be home with pizza, and already a crispy romaine salad with avocados and red onions awaited them on the kitchen counter. The women were famished but first needed to rectify the wet and filth, so they headed straight to the outdoor shower.

Vie had forgotten to set out her special toiletries this time, so she grabbed Carl’s raggedy bar of Irish Spring off the deck railing along with his thick washcloth, which was crusty from sitting in the sun. The women stripped off their wet clothes and threw them to the side in a heap, then turned on both showerheads. After each rinsed the worst of the mud and manure off their bodies and out of their hair, they took turns washing each other from head to toe – armpits, sweaty crotches, backs, legs, in between toes, and then they lathered up their muddy locks and attempted to give each other a head massage. This was challenging, to say the least, as they dealt with fingers getting caught in the knotted mess caused by the use of bar soap without the benefit of creme rinse.

Post-shower, both women reeked of the cedarwood and patchouli smell for which Irish Spring is renowned.

Deeply touched by the day’s events and the intimacy of their showering, Vie cupped Kate’s soft face in her rough hands, and looked at her with gentle intent, eyes softened by exhaustion and happiness. As she hesitantly leaned in toward Kate’s face, she closed her eyes and then felt Kate’s soft, full lips meet hers. A feeling of sheer bliss warmed Vie’s body. Both women were reluctant to end the kiss, and thus, it continued sweetly and passionately for a long while – that is, until they heard the rough engine of the Dodge making its way up the hill.

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Carl had returned and was now creating a considerable amount of noise in the kitchen as he finished up the dinner preparations, tossing the salad, setting the table, and putting out beverages. The women snuck into the bedroom, absconded with two pairs of Carl’s soft pajama bottoms and some old T-shirts, then brushed out their hair as best they could. Presentable enough for pepperoni pizza was the assessment.

Before joining Carl for dinner, Kate and Vie went back to the garden for one last look at their handiwork. Overcome, Vie sat on the rock wall and cried, but this time for joy.