Gardening is my passion. I've always loved getting my hands dirty and putting in plants that attract birds, bees, and butterflies. And I'm so grateful I can still do it. I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS) almost 30 years ago, and the disease has progressed over the years. I use a walker inside my house and a wheelchair when I shop for groceries or volunteer.
With my husband's help, I've figured out how to continue gardening. He bought me a 1968 Harley-Davidson golf cart that I load up with my tools and drive from bed to bed. I use kneepads and a weed bucket and get to work. On a good day, I can last three hours. But no matter how little time I spend in the garden, I always feel as though I've accomplished something.
At my house in Virginia, I maintain 18 different beds. Those in the shade are filled with hosta, columbine, lenten rose, hydrangea, and foxglove—a personal favorite. In the beds that get full sun, I've planted perennials such as coneflowers, irises, lilies, peonies, false sunflowers, and black-eyed Susans. I also have a vegetable garden and an herb garden. And for years I've volunteered at the Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden near Richmond, where the employees make me feel welcome and are so accommodating.
Because of MS, I am extremely sensitive to heat; Virginia gets very hot in the summer, so I limit my days in the garden to late February through early June and late September through almost December. Not surprisingly, the weeds run rampant July through August, but I still enjoy the colorful flowers and the visiting creatures.
Every moment I spend in the garden—marveling at the latest blooms, plucking up weeds, fertilizing the soil, cutting flowers for arranging in vases—is a moment of bliss because I rarely think about having MS. When I'm focused on the plants, the numbness, fatigue, and pain I often experience fade into the background. And I'm always struck by the beauty and fragility of nature. A few years ago, I snipped some parsley for dinner later in the week. I put it in a container of water to keep it fresh, and the next morning four or five caterpillars were crawling on the parsley leaves. I hadn't seen the eggs hidden in the branches. Fortunately, one of my neighbors raises butterflies, and she came over to collect the caterpillars to keep them safe until they transformed into monarch butterflies.
Experiences like that help me focus on the bounty, not the loss, in my life.
Barbara Puszcz, a master gardener, lives with her husband in Glen Allen, VA, where she enjoys gardening, playing music, and blogging (myboomermind.com) about living with MS, among other topics.
