The Beauty of Ruth and the Medicine of Community
Today was Day 3 of a gnarly cold that’s been kicking my butt and leaving me totally drained. Earlier in the week, I saw a post in my local Buy Nothing Facebook group about seed offerings, something I badly wanted but didn’t have the energy for at the time. This morning, I woke up still feeling rough, convinced I didn’t have it in me to drive to a stranger’s house, make small talk about gardening, and collect seeds. But I had more energy than I’ve had in days, so I told myself: Just go. While you still can.
When I arrived, I was greeted by Ruth, who, as it turns out, had been to my house years ago when I was giving away plants while redoing my backyard. As soon as I pulled into her driveway and saw the cedar shake siding, two raven art pieces on her house, and lush garden beds, I knew I was stepping into Ruth’s world and I was curious enough to walk right in.
Not long after I arrived, another woman pulled up and gifted Ruth a large bag of plums from her tree. She explained how some were sweeter than others thanks to cross-pollination. She had a broken collarbone, so Ruth offered to come harvest the tree for her. The joy exchanged between these two women, the ease, the generosity, was something special. I introduced myself, and it turns out she’s a regular giver in the Buy Nothing group. I told her how nice it was to finally put a face to the name.
Before heading over, I had messaged Ruth to let her know I was under the weather in case she wanted to postpone. She responded like a pro: “I’ve been coughing too. We just won’t get too close.” Unbothered.
What I expected to be a quick stop turned into a two-and-a-half-hour conversation that wound through her life story. We talked about her cedar-sided home, her move from Vermont, her time in Port Townsend, her two marriages, and what her sons are up to now. And then we hit the sweet spot: gardening. Flowers, in particular. Ruth’s passion is absolutely boundless.
I love my garden, too. I think about color and bloom timing, which plants are invasive, which ones give me joy. But Ruth? She’s in another league. She doesn’t just garden, she communes with her flowers. She lit up as she showed me her calendulas, pointing out the different layers of petals and the way the centers vary. Same with her poppies, which she joyfully explained had seeded themselves and cross-pollinated to produce unexpected colors. We wandered through her backyard, where she talked about the water features her husband designed and as a fellow water feature lover, I left inspired to finally run electricity to the front yard and make one happen.
She loved it all. Even the wild, untamed parts of her land. She appreciated the natural, the imperfect, the overgrown. She shared so openly her journey through breast cancer. She talked about lemon balm and mint, and I sheepishly admitted I have those plants but never harvest them. Her eyes lit up as she explained her process: snipping stems, letting them dry in a basket, crunching them up, and storing them in repurposed jars with handwritten labels with variety, like her garden, and all the more beautiful for it. She was gracious with me, smiling as she said, “I learned this all over a lifetime…….it was a connection with my father and I and I just learned one plant at a time……..I am throwing a lot of information at you and you won’t remember it all……just pick one plant if you want.”
Ruth lives in an artistic flow. No harsh lines, no rigid systems. Just rhythm and color and beauty.
Eventually, she invited me into her home for a glass of homemade sun tea made with hibiscus, mint, lemon balm, and rooibos. It was heaven. And in my sick, slightly delirious state, I hoped it might be the magic elixir that would knock this cold out of my body.
She wore a boxy earth-toned top, cropped lilac leggings, etched silver bracelets, and handmade earrings. She was the quintessential earthy goddess; organic everything, tea maker, garden whisperer, and artist. She even showed me photos of her past homes and artwork, which had been her livelihood for most of her adult life.
This morning, I was wrapped up in how terrible I felt. But I stepped out just a little and was met with community, generosity, and beauty. Ruth invited me into her world. She shared her stories, her seeds, her tea, her passions, and most of all, her warmth. I didn’t know how much I needed that reminder: community can be soul medicine.
Especially now, in these disconnected times, we need each other. We need that spark of real human connection, of generosity without expectation, of people who grow flowers and offer tea to strangers.
Today, Ruth was my reminder.
Stay open to the moments that invite connection.
They just might be exactly the medicine you need.
