Sanctuary

I live in my small town with my husband, Fred Shepherd, in a neighborhood that has seen better days. I’ve been in my house for 20 years, 10 of them with Fred, and can’t imagine living anywhere else, with or without him.
I have written for years in my professional life, and have spent the last two years exploring the creative writing process. And in the last 10 days, I’ve begun to share my work with the world through this blog. My dear husband has read my professional work and now, my creative work, and while he says he likes it, he says he knows I’m playing it safe with the creative writing. Topics that are entertaining, but not necessarily revealing in terms of who I am or how I feel. He claims I’m too comfortable exposing everyone else’s underbelly or passions, but not my own. And then, he suggested I write about my garden.
The entire exchange about my writing took place one evening last weekend while we were enjoying a cocktail on our 900 square foot deck that is attached to the back of our home. The two-levels of composite planks cover most of the grass in the back yard and are surrounded by what has now become an overgrown wildness that always appears late in August and early September. Glorious bunches of lush greens edged in dry brown droop over the retaining wall that initiated the building of this monster deck. The weeds mingle with the “real” plants, and I let them all live so late in the season because really, how long will any of them survive before the first frost of winter?
We love our deck. It is the most relaxing place on our tiny plot of suburban paradise. Lovingly built by Fred over the course of two summers, completed when a garden shed covered in cedar siding, complete with windows, was built into the retaining wall, just for me, a couple of years ago. No detail was too small, no embellishment too sentimental. Copper tops on the posts? No problem. Lighting in all the gardens? How many lamps would you like? Quaint little stone paths leading to various locations surrounding the house? Great idea. The Path of Inspiration leads from the back door to the deck. The Path of Introspection leads along the side of the house by the Butterfly Garden to the Bench of Reflection. All part of the scenery that defines our life together, all painstakingly created…for me.
Whenever I sit on the deck, either alone or with Fred or with our friends or family, I am reminded that he loves me very much, so much so that he took hundreds of hours of his life to build something just for my delight. There were many times during those many hours when he let me know how much it was costing him in terms of fatigue or what he was missing or the expense to our bank account or to his body. But always, at the end of the day or the completion of the portion of the project, his satisfaction was palpable. Partly because he knew he had done a good job, but mostly because he knew that he had made me happy.
Next up? A lovely little room that once was my office, but now is a place for me to drink my coffee in the morning or write in the afternoon or plan my garden in winter. A place filled with all of my favorite books and a daybed to relax and read on rainy afternoons. Fred has designed it in such as way as to create a space that will have the look and feel of a sunroom or a porch. A bright sunny room that will warm me in the coldest days of January and February when I long to see the snow melt to reveal those first hosta shoots in spring. A creative haven. A sanctuary.
Sheets and sheets of 4’ by 8’ bead board, all painted a soft green and cut to fit around countless little jigs and jags around windows and trim and floorboards and doors and book shelves and up on the ceiling. Trimmed out to cover the mistakes that come with working in a 60-year-old house whose walls are not exactly square or a 60-year-old craftsman who is tired but wants to finish putting up that one last piece of panel. An old hardwood floor revealed after years of being covered with carpet, sanded and polished to a sheen that I know will feel smooth and cool on my feet when I walk through the room to get that first cup of coffee in the morning. A cup of coffee that I know I will savor each morning when I sit in my sanctuary.
I live – with my wonderful man – in a small town.