New Life for an Old Gardener

The only thing Ian Downey knew about marigolds is they partner well with tomatoes.

Every year Ian planted a border of marigolds around the tomato patch that centered his kitchen garden. He loved how short clusters of golden flowers protected tall, lanky tomato plants from hungry critters, destructive insects and parasites in the soil. He always considered marigolds and tomatoes an unlikely duo yet envied their perfect, symbiotic relationship. He’d never known human collaboration to be as steadfast.

Human companionship was what Ian longed for most these days. Preferably long term. He no longer enjoyed being alone. Not an uncommon feeling since the pandemic started and continued to ravage the human race. For Ian it was his heart attack, bypass surgery, and early retirement that impacted him most during the past 18 months, leaving him damaged and apprehensive about the future. For the first time in his life Ian wanted someone to watch over him.

Broken-hearted in the truest sense, Ian was overwhelmed with the consequences of being stuck at home without the energy to resume his normal activities. His former life was gone. It shattered the day he collapsed in a grocery store, his chest searing with pain, one hand on the shopping cart, the other hand holding a head of lettuce. If not for the quick response of an off-duty paramedic who witness the episode, Ian might be dead.

Instead, he survived the trauma and now lived the aftermath. Physiotherapists and counsellors lectured him about exercise and wholesome foods. He’d been coached on the psychological effects of heart surgery, warned about the life-altering anxiety and depression. Yet, after eight months of professional care, Ian doubted any significant behavior modification had taken hold. His analytical brain told him to just push through it. Still, he was lethargic and physically weak, feeling destined for another cardiac event.

Ian’s only companion now was his cat Deniro, named for his perpetual “you talkin’ to me” expression and stance. And there were bi-weekly visits from his housekeeper Ava who insisted Ian get a dog. Then you’d be out walking a couple times a day, she’d say. But no. Ian was a cat person. A lazing in the sun, sleep-on-the-sofa-all-day kind of person.

Ian knew from experience the best way to overcome inertia was his ingrained habit of doing just one thing. He learned it from his mother. Focus on doing one task she’d say, do it to the best of your ability and to the exclusion of everything else.

Anxious to get outside in the warm summer air, Ian decided his one thing would be restoration of his tomato patch in the backyard. He’d loved gardening and hoped to continue. Summer wouldn’t be summer without a crop of tomatoes. Heirloom for sandwiches and salads, and Roma for sauce because there’s nothing better on a cold February night than a plate of spaghetti smothered in homemade tomato sauce. The rest of the garden could wait.

Ian began weeding on a Friday morning. It was late June, almost too late to plant tomatoes. It had been a rainy spring and weeds were thriving. Plants Ian never knew existed occupied every inch of the rich, dark soil. Their strong roots had to be dug out. Fearful of the exertion Ian used a trowel instead of a shovel. This one thing would take forever to accomplish.

“You could use a shovel,” said a voice from his neighbor’s yard. Ian looked up to see an unfamiliar face staring at him. It was a younger man, well tanned with bright blue eyes and a cheerful expression.

“Hi. My name is Timothy James Grady. People call me TJ. I’m here to build a new deck. This one is hopeless, too worn out to stay standing.”

Ian sat up but didn’t get up from his kneeling position. That would take too much effort. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “My name is Ian. And I’m worn out too.”

“Then you could use some help,” said TJ, smiling. “I’m here to take delivery of lumber. I don’t start building until next week. I can come over and give you a hand, if you want.”

“How much will you charge,” asked Ian.

“Nothing. It’ll keep me occupied while I wait for the lumber to arrive,” offered TJ.

“Okay, Ian said. “I accept.”

TJ made his way through the weedy patch of soil in record time. Without explanation, he returned the next day and spent it with Ian. He drove them to a nursery north of the city where Ian selected an assortment of maturing tomato plants. But no marigolds. All were sold.

They got back to Ian’s house by mid-afternoon. Under the hot sun, TJ dug holes and planted the tomatoes under Ian’s direction. The fresh air, warm sun, and feeling of accomplishment was uplifting for them both.

That evening TJ stayed for an impromptu dinner of barbequed chicken and potato salad. He washed up in the laundry room and put on a clean t-shirt and jeans that he kept in the back of his truck. If there was a Boy Scout preparedness badge for wardrobe change TJ earned it.

Dinner was enjoyable but the conversation was better. No self-conscious pauses or dead air passed between them. First they talked about marigolds and tomatoes since TJ was curious as to why they were planted together. Then they talked about their former lives since both left careers in information technology. TJ had been an app developer for a thriving tech company while Ian spent 25 years as a software specialist for a government agency.

They talked long after the last bite of food was eaten. They discussed IT and their shared love of writing code and systems design. While applications were all about user interface and user experience it was the user, the human beings that screwed things up. By the time they agreed there would never be a perfect, marigolds and tomatoes style relationship between computers and humans it was after midnight and time for TJ to head home. He helped Ian clear the table before being escorted to the front door.

“Thanks for dinner. You’re a good cook,” said TJ as he reached for the door handle. “It was a pleasant surprise,” he added.

“What was a pleasant surprise, the dinner or that I can cook?” asked Ian with a grin.

“All of it. The food. The conversation. We have a lot in common,” replied TJ. With that as his final word, he opened the door, turned his head, and winked at Ian as he exited the house. With the door closed, Ian pressed his nose against its tiny window to watch TJ depart. Nice ass, Ian thought.

Ian couldn’t remember being up this late and was anxious to get in bed. Stimulated by the evening’s spontaneous perfection, he had trouble getting to sleep. He grabbed his cell phone and opened the Audible app, selecting Titus Welliver’s narration of a Bosch police procedural for his bedtime story. His last task of the day was to Google search for marigolds. It was late in the season for buying robust annuals and having none to choose from at the nursery this morning was a discouraging sign.

Google’s persistent autofill gave Ian an irresistible search option. He clicked on “marigold meaning” and proceeded to read “symbolically, marigolds represent the continued wellbeing of nature's order, and the possibility of renewal and birth.” Ian wanted a new beginning but he needed marigolds. As he put his head down on his pillow, the audiobook timer switched off and Ian fell asleep thinking of marigolds.

Monday morning Ian shuffled outside, coffee in hand, and sat at his patio table. Soon TJ arrived, energized and ready to restore the neighbor’s deck. Again, from the other side of the fence TJ began a conversation by stating the obvious.

“You’re struggling today,” TJ said as he watch Ian slump, elbows on the table, his head in his hands.

Ian lifted his head and nodded. “I need to get marigolds but I’m too tired. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Everything is such an effort.” Ian paused to catch his breath as if to prove his point. “I guess my tomato plants will have to survive on their own.” He looked at TJ. “Just like me,” he added with a weak chuckle.

“Just keep breathing,” TJ said. “You’ll be fine.”

Jealous of TJ’s energy and confidence, Ian stood and shuffled back into the house, saying nothing, and knowing he’d do nothing. He spent the day sleeping on the sofa while Deniro slept in his favorite chair.

TJ arrived early the next morning carrying a flat of beautiful, bushy, orange marigold plants. Knowing what Ian wanted, he planted them. Like squatty botanical soldiers they formed an impenetrable perimeter around the young tomato plants.

By the time Ian got out of bed TJ was laying the foundation for the new deck next door. Ian watched from the kitchen window as coffee brewed. Beyond his envy of TJ’s physical strength and energy, Ian was amazed by his resourcefulness, tenacity, and empathy. Somehow he felt protected by TJ’s capabilities. There was a synergy between them that Ian sensed but could not explain. Then he saw the marigolds.

Speechless, he charged outside wanting to pounce on TJ out of sheer joy. Instead, he stopped and stared, feeling a sudden warmth surge through his body that brought a cheerful expression to his face.

“I don’t know how to say thank you,” said Ian.

TJ looked up and into Ian’s eyes. “It’s ok tomato,” he said. “I’m your marigold.”

Ian smiled and opened his ragged heart to let the renewal begin.