I have composed several personal writings over the years about my house fire experience in 2009. Mainly because I think it is good to release negative emotions even if it is just through words to myself. But also, to reminded that the path from trauma to feeling balanced again is hard fought but can be done if I put my mind and will power to the job.

Dislodgement was a feature of the fire very difficult for me to come to terms with at first. I am most definitely a self-proclaimed nester. I am also what I coined a ‘sociable hermit’. I like to socialize in small doses but am most comfortable being home. Moving into a busy hotel while the process of my home being rebuilt was quite the transition for a nesting-loving social hermit.

During the weeks I stayed in the hotel my decision not to move back into my home after it was rebuilt was made. It was no longer my home but an awful memory. Still, I needed to be nearby for the reconstruction process. I started to look for temporary housing to live in that would be close by and leave me available to the contractors without a lot of travel time. I found a small studio apartment on the top floor in an old Victorian dual house. The building was surrounded by flowering trees, with an endodontist office on the main floor. My choice turned out to be anything but temporary. I have resided here now for seventeen years.   

Fast forward from the year or so it took me to get myself to a place that allowed grief to recede with the desire to move ahead from sorrow to something joyful again, I turned to gardening. Asking my landlords if I could possibly start one in a small space on the back property. Fortunately, they loved the idea. Explaining to me that I could use the land on their side of the fence that divided the two properties. Additionally, warning me the demeanor of the man who lived on the other side was more Scrooge-like than Mr. Rogers. Since I was not inclined to bond with him even if he were a prince, this didn’t deter me. I began clearing space to plant my garden. Hard physical work and getting my hands in the dirt raised my spirits considerably. And combing through seed catalogs became an enjoyable hobby again.

The first two years I planted what I was used to – herbs, tomatoes, peppers, sunflowers, and other vegetables and flowers. Each harvest was shared with my landlords, their office staff, and any occupant of the other apartment in the building. Sharing and absorbing their appreciative words gave me courage to come gingerly out of my unhappiness.

In year three, I fancied growing uncommon plants to me. Looking through a site dedicated to unique seeds, I came across the luffa plant – intrigued by how I could grow the plants, harvest them, and after a long process, turn them into sponges. With great anticipation, I ordered the seeds. Waiting for their arrival, I cleared a space for them.

There was a giant ash tree on the other side of the fence by my garden space, its leafy branches hanging over onto my working side of the fence. I would sit under its shade taking breaks while surveying the peaceful world of nature and growing plants. The two previous years I gardened, the alleged grumbly man next door oddly never made an appearance to me. But suddenly, on a bright beautiful spring gardening day of my third season he appeared, saw me working and came up to the fence and called me a nasty description usually assigned to a female dog. I was stunned, quickly picking up my tools to go inside. Once inside I muttered to myself that this reaction would not work for many reasons, mainly because gardens take hours to tend. I couldn’t give up time just because Mr. Grumbly was a very rude man. What to do? Ignoring him came first to mind. However, it was hard to ignore a large framed, red faced man with bulging neck veins shouting unpleasantries at me while creating my happy space.

Killing him softly with kindness was my next considered approach. So, the next time he shouted rude offences to me; I smiled and said hi. He jolted at this civil effrontery, harrumphed, turned around, and left. Ha, mean old man, gotcha! I thought my rude man issue was solved. Not! Because next time he came by the fence, and we did his nasty names and my smile routine, he added comments. How he wasn’t used to anyone being on the property and wanted me gone. I politely pointed out I was on my landlord’s side of the fence, not his, and keeping with the kind route, telling him I would gladly share my harvest with him. That only got his harrumphing going to more strenuous levels. Back to trying to ignore him.

Regardless of gardening alongside Mr. Grumbly’s rudeness, I was very excited when the luffa seeds arrived and planted in their space several feet away from the fence. Summer moved along with the luffa plants growing strong and healthy. Encouraging growth with Mr. Grumbly unfolded too. Silently, he started to linger longer by the fence just looking. Creepy as that was, a mute truce was appreciated more than him fussing at me.

As the seasons spanned, we began to speak of our respective lives, both the struggles and the joys experienced. It was gratifying when he said I could call him by his name; pleasantly surprised to learn he made handmade soap and brought me one as a gift as a little surprise. In return, I offered him fresh dried herbs and flower petals for his soaps. Imagine that…we were sharing. He wasn’t really a mean man, just dealing with troubles of his own. Mr. Grumbly/Not so Grumbly, mostly still mercurial, became Jon – a tentative by the fence acquaintance.

I felt especially grateful for our provisional association when I discovered several luffa plant vines had crept under the fence and were spiraling up to the top of the ash tree on his side of the fence firmly attaching themselves to the branches. Oh, boy. Knowing for a fact, people can be very touchy over property rights, and I was only a tenant. Best to brush up on an especially good smile for Jon because there was no way I wasn’t getting those pods down in the fall.  Hoping too, Jon will never look up!

Soon after the luffa blooms appeared, they developed large dangling green pods. Summer turned into fall, with the pods growing to great sizes hanging from Jon’s ash tree. Still shy of his full acceptance due to his daily changing personality, I remained mum to the wonder of the luffa pods. Happily, he had not himself discovered them. I couldn’t bear thinking he would try and cut them down before they were ready to gather. With fall harvest approaching, starting a conversation on his letting me onto his property to get the luffa pods down from his tree became my main mission. I needn’t have fretted.

Early October, we were chatting by the fence about herbal soaps, and I was mentally priming myself to tell him about the situation with the luffa pods, when suddenly a large hawk swooped into Jon’s ash tree, perched on a branch right by a pod, then promptly took flight. Jon looked up as the hawk flew off, his eyes popping when he spotted the giant luffa pods hanging down. I could see he was wondering what the heck they were, so it was time to confess that I was sorry my garden had traveled onto his property.

Not only wasn’t he upset, but he also wanted to know more about them. When I explained what they were and how I planned to use them…he turned to me and ask how ‘we’ were going to get them down. Stunner.

Together in late November, we invented a harvesting tool by tapping two long sunflower stalks together with a rake on one end to snag the vines. It wasn’t as easy as anticipated, because the strong ropey luffa vines were firmly entwined in the tree’s branches. Eventually, by pulling and tugging on the vines, we were able to get all the pods down to the ground. Both of us grinning like a couple of fools at the big green pods. I shared a few with Jon and set the rest to dry.

For both of us, it was a remarkable road to have journeyed through nasty name-calling to cooperative harvesting of luffa pods on his side of the fence. Demonstrating cooperative phases can be achieved by overcoming personal barriers and unearthing a shared purpose. Jon and I secured this knowledge from a traveling luffa plant growing under and up a communal space.

Our lives’ proceeds in various phases through the years responding to external and internal conditions that readjust our current existence. Continual realignment of said life materializes into countless additional segments of life engineered by those environments, and so on and so forth life goes. Our lifecycles are in a continual state of fluctuation requiring constant rebalancing.

For me, discovering and putting into practice systems on how to achieve a stable emotional and physical state while acquiring any new knowledge or experience then accommodating the transformations into my present life is a key factor in keeping my happy place intact. Not all my plans succeed but I find comfort and a sense of purpose in the effort of trying.