Rare (from the Munich Tales)

RARE
By Michael Kroetch

He made the garden slowly. He could see it more or less complete in his head long before he had broken the ground to plant the first seed. He knew growing things took time and patience. He was not worried about the plants not surviving. He had worked with many plants over the course of his life and knew which ones would flourish in the environment he had at hand. He enjoyed helping the plants reach their potential and bloom into full beauty. He talked to them a lot, telling them how nicely they were doing and that they had nothing to worry about. That he would bring them fresh water every day and make sure they had enough nutrients in their soil. For them he would journey with his old frail body on his bicycle several miles to a coffee shop where his good friend Charlie was a janitor and get from Charlie the ground remnants from the previous day´s brewing of coffee beans. He would sprinkle these coffee grounds among his little friends when they were sleeping at night. He knew these coffee remnants contained just the right kind of nitrogen for his plants and that when they woke up in the morning, their roots would feed on what he had given them and this would make them strong and vital and able to reach u toward the sun. Seeing them succeed and grow lush made him smile inside. He was a simple man. He did not need much in life to feel satisfied, but he needed his garden. It was a place for him to put his love now that his children were grown and gone to other places far away. He enjoyed seeing his family when they returned on holidays with the grandchildren, of course he did. But spoiling the grandchildren with all his affections and presents and hugs on those few days out of the year was not enough for him. Every day he was able to spoil his plants and tell them how lovely and beautiful they were, even as seedlings when all anyone else could see was a stub of green. To him this stub of green was a small miracle. He knew how brief life was and had not only lost his wife but so many of his dearest friends over the span of his years. He knew these stubs of green were a way the world had of trying again. He liked life but knew he would not have so many years to enjoy his garden. That is why he was so very careful with each living thing he encountered and smiled at them all. He felt as if they all held some of him within them somehow, especially his own plants and flowers. When he saw them healthy and happy and green with their colorful flowers, he knew he could face his own death. He could feel his body growing weaker with the passage of days and years and knew that before long some of the plants he had helped bring into the fullness of their life would go on without him. This could have made him sad, but it did not. He was a kind man and kind also to himself. He was happy for all that he had experienced and certainly wanted more time with his plants and grandchildren, but also he knew there were limits. In time he would become coffee grinds. He and his plants would give way to the next generation and their kind. He tried to tell his plants this to give them some peace when he saw them reaching the end of their life cycle. He would kiss them after he said it and tell them once more how very beautiful they were. And rare.