Item Description

Happiness radiates like the fragrance from a flower, and draws good things towards you ~ Maharichi Mahesh Yogi

I’ve been gardening ever since I was a young child. Helping my dad plant tulip bulbs with my brother, Mike, is one of my fondest memories. The process was the same every year; my dad dug the holes, handed us the bulbs, and we’d place them in the holes, one by one. My brother and I took turns, until my dad was satisfied we planted enough tulip bulbs. I loved feeling the brisk fall air on my face, smelling the damp soil, and looking for the tiny green sprouts that greeted us in the Spring.

In the early summer, we planted the marigolds. The ritual was the same as the tulip plantings. My dad dug the holes, handed us the tiny flowers, and we’d place them in the holes. Even as young children, we knew we needed to treat each delicate plant with care. We watched in wonder as our little marigolds quickly grew over our heads, reaching for the sky.

I carried my love for gardening into adulthood. My husband, Chris, also a gardener, developed his passion as a young boy in central Michigan. He helped his parents tend to their half acre vegetable garden. Chris brought new skills to our hobby. Add worms to the beds to fertilize the soil, cans of beer to lure the slugs away from the plants, and water the plants at dawn or dusk. We enjoyed transforming our first home’s yard into a colorful menagerie.

Our children, Patrick and Molly, came along and were quickly recruited as helpers. Both babies spent hours napping in a backpack as we watered, weeded, and monitored the garden. They slept better when we were outside gardening, our gentle movements rocking them into a deeper sleep. As toddlers, they dug holes for new plants, with their own little shovels. After a rainstorm, they searched for worms on the sidewalks for the garden beds. Sometimes after I tucked them into bed, I’d slip outside to tend to the gardens under the moonlight.

Our family continued the gardening tradition when we moved to our next house. We got to work on the yard right away, hoping to recreate the gardens we previously enjoyed. The old, overgrown junipers needed to go. Goodbye to the tired lily of the valley, unable to produce a single bloom. As we started digging, we noticed the soil was dry with red clay. Not the best environment for lush, healthy plants, but we persisted, nonetheless.

Despite our efforts, our yard remained sterile. Summer after summer, we added, tilled, and fertilized the soil, before planting a new garden bed. The next year, only a couple plants would return. During that time, we added a puppy. Unlike Patrick and Molly who respected and cared for the gardens, Billie delighted in digging up the plants from the soft, freshly tilled soil, and trampling through the garden beds in pursuit of a chipmunk. We scratched our heads, wondering if we’d ever recreate the gardens we enjoyed at our first home.

The summer of 2015 started without any plans to tackle the garden beds. Entering the 4th month of chemotherapy for breast cancer left no room for pleasures such as gardening. I was exhausted and in pain. Worse yet, my white blood counts were dangerously low from the weekly poison that dripped into my body. Jan, my oncology nurse, told me no more gardening for a while. I could become seriously ill from the microbes in the soil. It seemed like our barren gardens resembled my new life; boring, tired, and sad. Sometimes I wondered if my own life would suffer the same fate as the plants we tried to grow.

Despite the chaos of caring for two young children and a wife battling breast cancer, Chris made another attempt to infuse some life into an empty garden bed. This time, it looked like the plants would stick around. A week after he added the new plants, my friend, Amy, organized a yard clean up party. She knew how much a neat, healthy yard would lift my spirits. Amy, and several other close friends, arrived with gloves, sun hats, rakes, and shovels. They removed debris, weeded the patio and driveway cracks, and planted flowers in window boxes and pots. Although I wanted to help them, I abided my doctor’s orders to not get dirty. As I rested in a chair outside, my heart filled with joy as I watched them pour their love into our yard. For the rest of the summer, I’d end the day sitting in the new gardens, enjoying the plants and flowers as they began to flourish and bloom around me.

March of 2016 marked the end of my cancer treatments, and I began the path to Survivorship. Although the road to normalcy has not always been easy, I persevered. Some days I wanted my old self back, just as I longed for the previous gardens at our old home. Undergoing chemotherapy and surgeries helped kill the weeds, but I didn’t want cancer treatments to kill my spirit. Sitting quietly in the garden, surrounded by nature, helped rejuvenate my spirit, and brought me closer to God. I am thankful for my life. As cancer becomes a distant memory, I continue the ritual of ending my day sitting in the garden.  I hope my chair reminds you of sitting in a garden, embraced by God’s love, and it brings peace and serenity to you as it does for me.

Item Special Note

About The Artist

My name is Marcy Hunter, and I'm a three year breast cancer survivor. I live in Wauwatosa with my husband, Chris, and two children, Patrick and Molly. Going through breast cancer treatments and surgeries was the most challenging experience of my life. Luckily, I had a good response to chemotherapy, and doctors now consider me "cancer free." Every day I'm thankful to be alive. As I reflect on the time since I was diagnosed, I believe having a good support system, an understanding employer, access to excellent medical care, and good insurance coverage influenced my positive outcome.  Volunteering for the Wisconsin Breast Cancer Coalition, allows me to advocate and support other women and men with breast cancer, making sure they have access to the same resources I had.