A Heart of Stone

 

I stand at the edge of the Urban Garden on Bachtel staring at the soil.

They are gone. 

All gone. 

Every single one of them.

Just yesterday the seven handmade stepping stones had graced the lining of the Garden and the rows between. Seven oasis lily pads sitting in the surrounding soil. Marbles danced in intricate designs in the concrete, plastic butterflies stuck in time in the slabs. They were stunning, works of art.

I want to scream, sob, lay on the ground in the fetal position—but I can’t do any of this. I just stare at the ground, thinking of what Gardens will be like tomorrow.

The kids all gathering, “Where’s the stepping stone I made?” Realization, anger, grief, “What happened?”  “I don’t know.” Heads tilted down, picking lettuce as their feet sink into the dirt. “This isn’t fair. Those were our stones.”  I’ll pause, “I know….I know.”

I walk over to the play set and see small pieces of concrete scattered across the deck. This must be where the stepping stones were broken, followed by tossing them into the bushes.

They were just stepping stones. They were just slabs of concrete put into a neighborhood garden. But from someone on the inside, they were so much more.

She helped him mix the concrete, adding water as she was told. He packed the molds with the concrete, giving one to each child. Marbles, pieces of colored glass, letters—the kids had access to them all.

She put her handprint in hers, telling me that this stone “would be part of the Gardens forever.” I smiled at her, thinking of how cool it was that the kids would get to come back and see their handprints in the ground until the weather would erode them.

The girl beside me made a flower, proud that the design she created was so accurate to what was in the stone. The smiley boy had red marbles covering every inch of his circular concrete slab.

And then they all got to put them in the garden some screaming, “I WANT MY STONE TO BE BY HERS.” There was hustle and bustle but finally all the stones were laid peacefully in place in the Garden.

Just stepping stones.

Full of emotion, I swallow my tears and walk back up to the Crabbs’ yard.