Last Day & Draft Day

A sad ending in my community and a hopeful beginning in my garden

The hospital where I was born and where I gave birth to my firstborn closed its labor and delivery unit this week.

I saw photos of staff, past and present, gathered to remember and say goodbye.

Earlier this year, I wrote about my love for the movie You’ve Got Mail. The scene where Kathleen Kelly walks out of The Shop Around the Corner for the last time breaks my heart every time. And that is what it felt like looking at those photos.

I cannot imagine being the last one to walk out of a place that brought so much life into the world. To turn out the lights on rooms where so many babies were born and so many families began.

The hospital is no longer named, but will always be known as Sparks to me. That is what it was called for most of its history. I was a Sparks kid.

It was one of the early differences I noted between Patrick and me. He was a Saint Edwards kid. His family went there, what is now known as Mercy. I had no experience with that hospital, the one where I have now spent a big part of my career. Sparks is what I knew, so there was never any question where I would deliver my baby. It was not up for discussion. There were a lot of things like that in those early years of our marriage. I got my way a lot.

Sparks has been a steady presence in our community for nearly 140 years. And now, it is closing numerous key service lines and will soon be a shell of what it once was.

It is hard to believe.

But it also serves as a reminder that things are not as fixed as they seem. I realize this can feel encouraging or worrisome, depending on where you are in your life.

If you are desperately hoping for change, looking at a system or a person that seems like it will never budge, take heart. It can bend. It can even break.

And if you are on top, convinced your position is firmly set, it is wise to remember this. You can be moved.

We had company this week, and the day before they came, as we were getting ready for the visit, I told Patrick that we, meaning he, needed to fix the cabinet door that hides the trash can. It broke months ago. Whose fault was that? Well, that is not important. The point is, I decided it needed to be fixed and told Patrick so.

You know what he said?
No.

You know what I said?
Nothing.

I like this version of us.

We will celebrate 28 years of marriage this summer, and somewhere along the way, I stopped needing to get my way, well, most of the time.

And I knew he was right. The broken door did not matter at that moment. And I am certain if our guests noticed it, they did not care. What we all cared about was savoring the short time we had together.

When they left, we sent them home with tomato plants. That’s what we have to offer these days.

We are planting ours today. In preparation, last night Patrick and I sat on the floor of the living room and held the official “tomato draft,” deciding who among the remaining 104 earned one of the 28 coveted garden spots.

I assured the plants that were not selected in this first round, yes, I talk to them, that they still have a future: containers, hanging bags, a new home with a friend. Everyone gets a chance to produce.

Patrick and I started 10 varieties from seed and picked up three more varieties at the University of Arkansas Plant Pathology Graduate Student sale this weekend.

One of the UofA varieties I am especially excited about is the Spoon Tomato. It’s the size of a pea. You can eat a whole spoonful at once. Doesn’t that sound delightful?

I was so excited about my upcoming acquisition that on Friday morning I told my hairstylist about my plans to procure a spoon tomato later that day. As I walked out the door, she hollered, “I hope everything goes well with your tomatoes,” and I laughed, realizing this might have tipped into obsession.

In my tomato pants at the tomato sale

But it has been fun. Really fun to nurture something from the beginning and get it to this point.

We are quite a ways away from fruit. It may be the Fourth of July before we slice our first tomato. But today feels like something. Today feels like birth. I am putting them in the ground and letting them go on their own.

After a heavy week of thinking about the ending of a place of beginnings, it feels good to be out in the soil, starting something new.

Hoping some good beginnings are in store for you this week,
Martha

As usual, below is a poem. It reminds me that I’d take a broken trash can door over a shaky marriage any day:

Second Fig
By Edna St. Vincent Millay

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!