A woodchuck ate all my parsley.

Okay, I can’t actually prove this. I mean, I didn’t see him (or her…but I really kind of think it’s a him) eat it. I have seen him around though. He’s adorable. Fat body, little legs. I’ve been watching him ever since winter decided to hightail it outta these parts, and I’ve fallen just a little bit in love with him. He scampers across the driveway, peeks out from behind the woodpile, and does his very best woodchuck-wobble-run across the yard when he notices me carry out the laundry basket with wet things to hang on the line. He is, in fact, quite adorable.

I’ve been thinking of names for him for quite some time now, but haven’t yet decided. I’m torn between “Chuck”, which just sounds way too cliché, and “Sheldon”, because frankly he looks like a “Sheldon”. So, obviously, you can see that since I am deciding on a name I must certainly love him. And I do.

He did, however, eat all of my parsley.

I planted it in the afternoon, a few days ago. Watered it in well. Fertilized. The whole nine yards.

And then, the next morning, I found nothing but stems.

Like I said, I can’t prove that Chuck-or-maybe-Sheldon was the actual eater of said herb, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the squirrels (who don’t have names because…well…there’s just too many of them) or the chipmunks (who might have names at some point this summer because…well…there are only a few of those). And I didn’t see any deer prints in the garden, which are pretty easy to spot.

Nope, the way I figure it, it had to be someone light and little and interested in parsley.

So, sadly, I am thinking it was the woodchuck.

I say sadly because sometimes someone you love does something that you most decidedly do not love. And sometimes someone you love does something that actually hurts you, or costs you. And yeah, it might be just a silly example – I mean, I can obviously plant more parsley – and probably will. Which I figure Sheldon/Chuck will probably eat. But then, I can always just buy a pot for the windowsill and be done with the loss. And honestly, I’ve gotta figure that this little guy didn’t actually know that he was doing anything wrong by eating what to him must’ve been just the best thing that’d happened to that patch of garden in quite some time. (He passed right over the hundred thousand acres of oregano that I’ve got – that particular herb being not only “perennial” but quite a little “spreader” as well.)

So I can’t, in all good conscience, hold it against Chuck. Or maybe Sheldon. Because he didn’t know what he was doing. Well, he might’ve known what he was doing in the sense of knowing that he was eating some amazing greens. But not in the sense of knowing that he was taking something from somebody. Or maybe even that the lady who he sees carrying a basket of laundry across the lawn is actually a somebody. Or that this gigantic animal without fur carrying a laundry basket is a human. Or even, what a human is. Or, come to think of it, what the heck a laundry basket is.

I mean, after all, he’s not human and he’s not me, so how in the world could he really know?

And that got me to thinking…about people who hurt us, and especially about the people we love who hurt us, and whether or not one of the things that keeps us from forgiving, keeps us holding all those hurts inside of us and against the other person…is that we think we know that they know, really know, and really always knew, how they’d hurt us.

Now it’s true that sometimes people do hurt others on purpose. Sometimes they know darned well and good what they’re doing and they’re just doing the hurting on purpose.

But sometimes? Sometimes I really think that maybe they just really don’t know.

Call me Pollyanna or call me crazy, but I really do.

And really, when we think about the times that we’ve been the one who’s done the hurting of someone else, it’s just a bit easier to see that we really didn’t see, we really didn’t know.

The truth is that we are all just a little bit blind, a little bit selfish, a little bit obtuse, and a little bit too much in love with what it is that we want – to really know.

And this – this knowing – can maybe give us a bit of an opening. A bit of a way in. To forgiving. To forgetting. To letting go of what we maybe just need to let go of, so we can get on with what we need to do more of. Loving. Laughing. Connecting.

Finding everyday grace.

I won’t pretend, now or ever, that loss isn’t real and that hurts aren’t hard. But I won’t pretend, either, that grace isn’t around to lend a hand when we need to go ahead and let the hurts go.

Me? I’ve held onto grudges longer than I care to admit. Maybe you have too. But maybe it’s time that we just let it go.

Maybe we could just plant some more parsley.

Or maybe we could just get a pot for the windowsill and be done with the loss.

~xo,
LuAnne