So Long, Old Friends, So Long
With “Hello, life’s new chapter” comes “So long, old friends, so long.”
By John G. Stamos
I just sold my house in Michiana Shores. Regular readers of my stuff here might recognize this as a big deal for me, as it’s a key part of the process of moving this publication, along with our dog Holly and yours truly, to British Columbia, Canada, where my wife and RGG co-publisher Ann awaits. Regular readers – particularly longtime regular readers – might also know that, over the years, I’ve taken no small amount of pleasure and pride in the little garden that I grew and tended at my now former Michiana Shores digs. I populated that garden with plants I raised from seeds, bare roots, or tiny potted nursery individuals, and I built, by hand, significant structures to make each of them happy and to augment the garden’s beauty and viability. I lent assiduous stewardship to the creatures – frogs, toads, birds, insects – that made their home among the ponds and planters and flowers and leaves and branches of the little garden world I created. And longtime regular readers who’ve read some of my more intimate garden-related pieces (missives?) might know of the connection I’ve felt, and still feel, to the plants and animals that live in my former garden – and to that garden itself as a whole.
It’s tough for me to actually see the words “former garden” spelled out in black and white, and it’s even tougher to wrap my head around the reality they denote…
I’d spent a lot of years in my former garden up to my elbows in dirt, on my knees, with that dirt ground into the skin of those knees (since the denim of every pair of my jeans had worn through). Countless times, one side or the other of my face got itself covered in that very same dirt when I pressed a cheek to the ground and peered down a toad’s burrow with one eye to make sure its way was clear and that its little bright-eyed resident was safe. The soil of my old garden – its Earth and its cradle – is as indelibly ingrained within the chambers of my heart as it is in the pores of my skin. My old garden’s nodding flowers and rustling leaves and spilling waters, its flapping wings, its hovering fuzzy and feathered bodies, its frogs in mid leap – all remain as a panoramic freeze-frame in my mind’s eye and an afterimage burned into my conscience. The arc of tracking sunlight across its green and multicolored tapestry is captured at every point in time as a curated collection of album-bound snapshots, locked away forever in the vault of my memory.
Although the profundity of unshakeable reality is irreplaceable at the sensory level, and there’s nothing quite like being there, the impact of my firsthand experiences in my former garden is never diminished. Their memories, in fact, are ever-resonant echoes that grow more discernable as history embellishes them with richness…
When I brought home my Michiana Shores garden’s very first plant – a tiny off-brand miniature rose purchased at a big box store – it was February and too early and cold outside to plant it in the ground. It remained in its pot – indoors until it was warm outdoors, and outdoors until its very own planting feature, my garden’s rose bed, was implemented – and something swelled in my chest as the little plant convinced me of its readiness for life in my old garden’s ground by its budding promise of first-time flowers and the straining of its foliage toward the sun.
The musical creaking of my joints as I rose from my hands and knees after I’d finished building my former garden’s first planting bed – its “Lily Patch” – was symphonic, and it accompanied their sweet aching. This live concert’s curtain call was the unfurling of nascent lily blooms, and its wafting encore perfumed the air.
I freed tadpoles from overburdening tufts of pond algae and I felt the pulsing of life in each little body I scooped from the morass. The beating of tiny hearts and the drawing of tiny breaths was the cadence of anticipation as these miraculous little beings marked a ceaseless march of morphological transformation from creatures of water to denizens of loam and breathers of air. I felt this in the palm of my hand – I felt this – and my own heart beat faster for it.
My former garden’s residents each had a name. Mike, Jim, and Brian were the biggest, oldest frogs. Mama and Papa were the resident Northern cardinals, and Batman and Robin were the American robins who returned each year to nest in the arbor I built and raise their young. Big Guy was an elderberry bush and Frosty was a Japanese spirea. Minnie was my little off-brand rose. And beneath the inexorable light of the morning sun or the bronzed rays of a late afternoon’s nadir, I stood in my former garden and addressed each one them properly, and the gratification I felt was dizzying…
In each of these instances and at all of these times, I wished I was rooted to this little garden’s ground, just as its plants were, and that I could never be taken away.
But time has a way of marching on. The shadows lengthen in places like my little former garden, but with them stretch memories that span both the shady spots and the sunny, and eventually bridge them. In the dazzling light of a new day, a bright future for me is revealed. Fresh adventures in a new place with my life’s nucleus – my wife and my dog – are on the sunlit horizon. And here, new memories will be made. But I’ll never forget my little former garden and all of its living, breathing miracles. I know I’ll never again call out to Mike or Mama or Frosty, and I’ll never swoon and sway to the scented rhythm of my rustling lilies. I’ll not be able to mark the growth of my former garden’s very first plant – Minnie, the little off-brand miniature rose – in its indomitable quest for the sun. As irreplaceable as being forever rooted in the soil of that little place may be, the experience is not incomparable. My memories ensure this fact. The dirt, the flora, the fauna, the stewardship… they’re all there in the pores of my skin and in the marrow of my bones. They’re in my heart and they’re in my mind, and they’ll be there forever.
It’s not goodbye, and it never will be. It’s so long, old friends, so long. I’ll see you all again when I close my eyes. And I’ll hear your songs and breathe your scents. And I’ll always be richer because of it.
“So Long, Old Friends, So Long” ©2026. John G. Stamos and The Renaissance Garden Guy
John Stamos is a writer and is co-publisher of The Renaissance Garden Guy. His work has appeared in a number of publications including, most recently, A Man for Some Seasons, Splice Today, and, of course, The Renaissance Garden Guy. He is married to his multitalented sweetheart, the mycologist and writer Ann Simpson-Stamos.
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Oh, John. This is beautiful. I know about all the blood, sweat and tears you put into the beautiful garden you created there in Michiana Shores. I know that every single moment you spent in your Eden, even the ones that tried and exhausted you, were fueled by your love for the paradise you created! All of its little residents, those with wings, feet, tails, stems, roots and blooms, responded and thrived with your loving care. I so enjoyed the walking tours you gave me, introducing me to its tenants as we wound through your garden’s paths. I will always remember its beauty and the pride and joy your living creation brought to you. I’m so happy you have been blessed to find Ann…your future, your dreams, your peace…and I am so thrilled that you are so much closer to being able to begin your newest and BEST adventure with her! I love you, my brother!!!
You’ve got me all choked up, sis. I hope you’re happy! What you’ve written here is beyond beautiful. You’ve caught my wave and you know exactly what that little garden and all of its inhabitants meant to me (and always will mean to me), and you recognize the depth of my feelings by virtue of the fact that they mirror your own. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Tina. I love you too.
What an emotional process it is to do one of life’s big transitions, moving from a long-familiar place to somewhere far away. So glad you managed to clear all the hurdles, and know you’ll have many great new adventures ahead!
Thank you, Lisa. You’re absolutely right. It’s been incredibly emotional. I never anticipated that it would be to such a degree. Anticipating those new adventures you mention are what’s keeping me focused and on track. Thanks for reading the piece, Lisa, and thank you for your kind thoughts and words.
Oh John, finally the time has come to say farewell. Such a lovely piece describing the joys of your garden. Thanks so much for sharing the ups and downs of life in Michiana Shores over the years. I wish you, Ann and Holly the best of times in BC and look forward to seeing your new garden unfurl.
Love, Gaby.
This is so incredibly kind of you, Gaby. Thank you so very, very much. I’m so happy that you liked this little essay – I’ll be honest and mention that I got a little choked up myself while I was writing it. And I’m glad I didn’t bore you too badly chronicling all of the gardening misadventures here in Michiana Shores. Your interest in my efforts and in The RGG over the years is appreciated dearly. Your efforts in cultivating your beautiful new garden after your own move are inspiring, and I hope I enjoy similar success. I’ll definitely keep you posted. I thank you once more, Gaby, for your lovely thoughts and kind wishes. I’m truly grateful.
More than welcome John, all the best x
Cheers, Gaby!
Oh, John. This made me cry tears of sadness and tears of joy. Sad that you leave behind your beloved garden, and joyful for the new garden that awaits you. I went to Victoria as a teen with my family on an extended camping trip. Butchart Gardens really made an impression on me. Here’s to your new gardening – Cheers!
Thank you, Lane, for your lovely thoughts and very kind words of encouragement. I truly do appreciate them. It’s definitely an exciting time for us, albeit one fraught with endless residency/immigration minutiae and logistical issues resulting from the insane storm that decimated the northern third of the state last month (a tree fell on my car and the resulting insurance bullshit is endless). In any case, I’m sad about leaving my Midwestern garden and all of its little miracles behind, but I’m pumped about starting a new one in BC with Ann. And a visit (multiple visits) to Butchart Gardens is definitely part of the itinerary. Thanks once again, Lane. Your kindness means the world to us.
A beautiful and moving piece. Reading about your feelings for the plants and creatures that you loved tugged at my heartstrings.
Thank you so much for your lovely and very kind thoughts and words, Eleanor. I’m very glad that you enjoyed the piece. I’ll definitely miss my old garden friends, but I’ll always love and remember them. And, of course, I’ll be making brand new friends and brand new memories in beautiful British Columbia very soon. Thank you once again, Eleanor. Your thoughtfulness and kindness are dearly appreciated.
John,
I’m sure you must have had a difficult time leaving behind all you’d spent so much of your time with and worked so hard for. You’ll always have the memories of your loved ones and the garden you’ve put your soul into. But I wish you the best in your new place with new adventures. You will have a new canvas to grow with.
I will be looking forward to seeing all that you do! Good luck my friend!
-waz
Thank you so much for these kind words, Waz, and for your lovely thoughts and wishes. I will indeed remember my Midwestern garden and all of the plants and animals that call it home. They’ll be in my heart and in my mind forever. I’m also looking forward to life in British Columbia with my wonderful wife and my assertive little dog. It will be fun publishing The RGG from this part of the world, and I think it will be an interesting and edifying exercise to try and grow a new garden up there – different climate, different plants, different wildlife, etc. I’ll make sure to keep you in the loop on all of it. Thanks once again, Waz. I dearly appreciate your kindness and thoughtfulness.
Those memories of home, garden and friends will always be with you no matter where you are. My prayer is that you, Ann and Holly will create a new home together filled love, dreams, and lots of friends.
Thank you so much for your kind prayers and wishes, Kevin, and for your lovely thoughts. It’s true that all of my Midwestern loved ones – whether plant, animal, or person – will remain in my heart and in my mind forever. There’s plenty of room in both places (my heart and mind) for all of them AND the new loved ones I’ll meet, and already have met, in British Columbia. Thanks once again for your lovely words and prayers, Kevin.
Herinneringen blijven in je hart John. Dit is mooi geschreven.
Veel geluk in Canada.
Mag ik om je hulp vragen – mijn X-account is overgenomen, ik krijg geen toegang meer?
Thank you so very much, Ingeborg. I am so very grateful for your kind wishes and lovely thoughts. I’m so happy you enjoyed the piece. I will indeed miss my little garden, but I’m looking forward to creating a new one in Canada. Also, I just found your new X account and followed you. (It seems that more and more people have had their accounts hacked there.) Thank you once again for your kindness, Ingeborg. I truly appreciate it.
My pleasure John!
Bless your heart, Ingeborg!
A wonderful tribute to your now former garden. Wishing you and Ann a bright future in B.C., Canada.
Thank you, Rick. I appreciate the kind thoughts and wishes. I’ll miss that little garden, but new adventures definitely await. Thanks once again, Rick.
This is such a beautiful farewell (“Fare well!”) to your garden. I love the way you describe how the garden is still a part of you. Best of luck on your bright path ahead.
Thank you so very, very much, Mary. Your lovely thoughts and kind wishes are dearly appreciated. It is remarkable how profound (indelible, really) these little experiences can become. I think that such connections are possible for everyone as long they’re intellectually and emotionally open to them. Thank you once again, Mary. I truly appreciate your kindness.