Haywood

Quick Facts

• Role: Husband of the author, partner-in-care to the backyard world, and a teacher approaching retirement
• First appearance: Early pages of the memoir; present throughout as a steady counterpoint to Margaret Renkl
• Key relationships: Margaret; their sons; the couple’s aging parents and grandparents
• Signature presence: Quietly practical, often behind the scenes, yet shaping the family’s rhythms and the yard’s protections

Who They Are

At heart, Haywood is the memoir’s ballast—the calm, pragmatic undertow that steadies Margaret’s lyricism. He shows love not through speeches but through acts: calling the pond store, hauling plants, building a fence around a rabbit nest before the dog can return. The book never lingers on his appearance; his character is rendered through gestures of care and a humor gentle enough to defuse panic. He becomes the human frame around Margaret’s close watching, anchoring her explorations of The Human-Nature Connection and the emotional weather of Grief, Hope, and Environmental Change.

Personality & Traits

Haywood’s steadiness isn’t passivity; it’s a practiced, attentive kindness. A teacher and self-described “desultory gardener,” he favors what can be mended, fenced, repurposed, or gently joked about. His quiet reassurances make room for Margaret’s intensity without diminishing it, and his own observations—of coyotes, bobcats, and the first sign of tadpoles—prove he, too, is attuned to the living world.

• Supportive and collaborative: He calls the pond-supply store, sets up the stock-tank pond, and even repurposes his container garden so Margaret’s caterpillars have a place to thrive.
• Patient and amused: In It’s a Mystery, he deflates a minor crisis with humor—identifying the “owl pellet” as vacuum debris—and meets her tadpole-feeding with an easy, “Got it.”
• Practical and grounded: He mows the monkey grass, worries about a neighbor’s toddler eating poisonous pokeberries, and defaults to sensible, do-able fixes.
• Observant: On late-night sits he spots coyotes; at the nursery he notices the tadpoles; around the neighborhood he has multiple bobcat sightings—evidence of his own quiet watchfulness.
• Comforting: During their “reverse nesting” after the children move out, he pulls Margaret close and whispers, “It’s OK,” offering presence rather than platitude.

Character Journey

Haywood doesn’t transform so much as deepen. As retirement nears and the family shifts into an emptying nest, he and Margaret enter the cadence of two: a life tuned to small rituals and long, companionable silences. Choosing an empty bedroom as his study—angled to watch the bluebirds—signals a turning toward shared attention and parallel passions, the domestic echo of a new season. The death of his father places the couple at the top of the family tree, sharpening the ache and clarity of Aging, Family, and the Passage of Time. Through it all, Haywood moves from background helper to co-maker of the home’s sanctuary—still quiet, but newly central in the pared-down household.

Key Relationships

• Margaret Renkl: Their marriage reads as a long conversation in which tenderness and practicality take turns leading. Haywood’s patience makes space for Margaret’s grief and wonder; Margaret’s attentiveness dignifies his understated kindness. Together, they translate care for each other into care for their corner of the world.

• The sons: As the boys launch, Haywood helps them find an apartment and holds the bittersweet tension of pride and loss without dramatics. His steadiness steadies everyone else; he models how to let go without withdrawing.

• Parents and grandparents: The death of Haywood’s father marks the couple’s passage into the oldest generation, reframing ordinary chores—fences, mowing, checking the pond—as acts of inheritance. His grief is quiet, but it reshapes the house into a place where memory and caretaking coexist.

Defining Moments

Even small episodes reveal the larger pattern of Haywood’s character: humor that softens fear, practicality that enacts love, and a habit of noticing that binds him to the living world.

• The “Hoover Pellet” (It’s a Mystery)

  • What happens: He reveals that the treasured “owl pellet” is actually a clog from the vacuum cleaner—dog hair and Christmas tree needles.
  • Why it matters: His gentle wit restores proportion, showing how he protects Margaret not only from danger but from spiraling worry.

• The Anniversary Tadpoles (Thirty-Four Is Tadpoles)

  • What happens: He returns from a pond-supply errand with the “perfect present”: wild tadpoles for the new stock-tank pond.
  • Why it matters: He doesn’t merely tolerate her passions—he participates, turning celebration into collaboration.

• Protecting the Rabbits (My Life in Rabbits)

  • What happens: After the dog disturbs a nest, he builds a protective fence around it.
  • Why it matters: Love becomes lumber and wire; his default setting is to safeguard the vulnerable.

• Comforting Margaret (Reverse Nesting)

  • What happens: As the house empties and grief wells up, he pulls her close and whispers, “It’s OK.”
  • Why it matters: His presence is his argument—that solace is something you do, not something you explain.

Essential Quotes

Remember this morning, when you thought the vacuum cleaner was busted? Turns out there was just a wad of stuff plugging up the hose.

This line distills Haywood’s signature combination of practicality and humor. He solves a problem and gently teases the panic out of the room, modeling how perspective can be an act of care.

He came back holding a plastic bag full of stringy green plants and grinning. “I found the perfect present for you,” he said.

The “perfect present” is not jewelry but tadpoles—proof that he listens closely to what brings Margaret joy. His grin and the specificity of the gift show enthusiasm, not mere accommodation.

He looked at me. I looked back at him. “Got it,” he said.

The spare exchange captures the couple’s shorthand. “Got it” signals trust and acceptance: he doesn’t need to be converted to her fascinations to honor them.

“It’s OK,” Haywood whispers back, pulling me closer.

A whisper, a pull—no speechifying, just closeness. The line exemplifies how he meets sorrow with presence, turning a private ache into a shared, bearable one.