Thirsting To Grow

As I write this, my town, and most of upstate New York, is being inundated with a thick layer of smoke that has blown in from the wildfires in Canada. The distant hills are almost invisible and the daylight is tinged with a yellowish glow. All of this after weeks of above average temperatures and little or no rain that has put us in a drought condition with everyone racing around trying to save their gardens both indoors and out. If this weather gets any crazier, it could be the stuff of one of those futuristic, gloom-and-doom movies!

One of the casualties of all this is a lavender plant my daughter purchased for me a few weeks ago. It came from a reputable place that sells all home-grown, organic plants, fruits, and vegetables. The other three plants we purchased, a rosemary, sweet basil, and curly parsley, are all doing well. I gave them a day or so to get used to sitting under a grow light or on the windowsill instead of outdoors, then re-potted them into larger pots since their roots were getting tight. I made sure to put drainage holes in the bottom and followed the instructions that came with them as to how much sunlight and how much water each one needed. The three of them are thriving. The lavender isn't. On a day when it was going to be particularly hot, I had to run out to the store. Since I don't get direct sunlight until after lunch, I thought it was safe to put the herbs on the windowsill near an open window so they could get some fresh air. Unfortunately, I got held up with one thing or another and when I got back, the lavender looked limp. I gave it a good watering and put it back under the grow light. When it started looking even worse, I took it out of the pot to make sure the roots weren't pot-bound, put it in an even larger pot, and prayed. The next day it was completely gone, all droopy and dried out looking. I truly thought that a good drink and a bigger pot so the roots could breathe were the answers to the problem. In this case, although it might have been thirsting to grow, it just couldn't. While it wasn't the first plant I've ever lost, it still made me feel as if I had let it down somehow.

We all thirst to grow. We thirst for knowledge, new experiences, opportunities to spread our wings, put down new roots, and grow into the person we are meant to be. Sometimes we spring forward, and sometimes we fall back. We reach for the sun, only to realize that it has set before we could get there. Just like a plant has it's ups and downs, so do we. The trick is to do the best we can, try to stay awake and aware, and keep watering our dreams. We may be trying to grow one thing only to discover that we've grown something even better instead.

I took the dried petals of the lavender plant and put them in a mesh bag. When I take a bath, I'll sprinkle some of them in my bath water, or, tie the bag to the shower head so I can be showered with lavender. She may have lost her battle in the soil, but she is still sharing her goodness in the water. In the meantime, I've purchased a packet of lavender seeds and some new potting soil. Sometimes we have to get back to basics and start from the ground up ... literally!

And so it is. 

A Rose By Any Other Name

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

William Shakespeare 

Thirty years ago when I took up gardening as a serious hobby, I made lots of mistakes just like anyone else learning something new. I watched a few gardening shows on TV and decided those, plus my love for nature and anything that grows, would be enough. Eventually, after swallowing my pride and asking my neighbors what was working in their gardens (and watching lots more gardening shows), I started to have some success. My herbs flourished, my flowers were beautiful, my vegetable garden thrived, and even my animal neighbors started to visit, my favorites being the bunny family that came to live under the pile of branches I built in the corner of the yard just for them. My greatest plant successes were begonias, petunias, dianthus, daises, foxgloves, and iris. However, the one plant I wanted to grow more than any others was my one great failure ... roses.

My mother loved roses. Growing up in Queens, New York, we were fortunate to have a nice size yard with rose bushes, lilacs, and a hibiscus. Even then, not knowing what I was doing but just loving to be around them, I would deadhead and trim the rose bushes for my mom. I always swore that if I ever had a yard of my own, I would grown roses as a way to remember her. Alas, all the studying and hard work I put in just didn't pay off. I tried them in every sport in the garden, played with the soil, fed them, even begged them. Nothing I did worked. To this day I still can't grow roses.

If I've learned anything in my 73 (coming up on 74) years on this earth, it's this: We're all going to fail at something."  Failure is not a sign that we're stupid, or worthless. Sometimes failure is how we learn. I love this quote by Albert Einstein:

"Failure is success in progress."

What I learned from both my failures and my successes in the garden is that as long as I was doing what I loved, and sharing that love with all the creatures that lived in the garden with me, it was a success. So I just don't have the knack for growing roses, so what? You should see my begonias! Even in pots they are thriving on my windowsill. The basil seeds I sowed are starting to poke up through the soil. I have a bamboo plant that I bought when it was about 6 inches tall ... it is now 4 feet in a giant pot next to my desk. I wouldn't call that failure, would you?

So here's the thing: Do what you love and love what you do. Who knows what miracles will grow from that?

And so it is. 

Welcome Back, Sunshine!

 

The first week of May turned out to be anything but spring-like. It poured with rain all week, with temperatures way below normal, and a wind that just wouldn't quit. Then last Saturday, as if Mother Nature pulled back a huge, dark curtain, we woke up to sunshine, blue skies, and the greenest greens I've ever seen. My first inclination was to start pulling my plants out from under the grow lights on my tabletop garden and put them on the windowsill so they could soak in the natural light they deserved. Since then we've had sunshine and more seasonal temperatures every day, and my plants have been soaking it up big time. I swear my wax begonias have grown several inches in just a week, and the plant I thought had died started sending up tiny new shoots. Thank you, Mother Nature!

So often in our lives we have what seems like a never-ending series of setbacks, a run of bad luck, with no light at the end of the tunnel that we can see: "Will I ever feel better? Will the pain ever end? Will I ever be able to move forward with my dreams?" Even getting out of bed feels like a major effort. Then, one day, we wake up and the sun is shinning. It could be literal sunshine just like the other day, or it could finally be a step forward: the pain is gone, life looks better, hope starts calling our name again. Wayne Dyer, one of my greatest teachers of all time, was fond of sharing this Native American quote:

        "Even in nature, no storm lasts forever."

Just like my plants who thrived once they were in natural sunlight, my newly replaced knee felt better - not completely healed, but better. I started thinking about wanting to get out and start walking in the sunshine instead of inside a mall. I tore apart my tiny abode and started re-arranging furniture. Someone came up to me unexpectedly and asked me when my next book was coming out so they could read it because they had enjoyed the first one. The rain was gone ... on the outside and on the inside as well. Like my plants, I felt the need to stretch my leaves and reach for the sun.

Now, let's be reasonable. The rain will return as it always does, but we don't have to return to the dark thoughts and feelings. Know in your heart and mind that the sun will eventually return, and that you will be able to move forward. It just takes patience and faith ... just like Mother Nature shows us every day.

And so it is. 

Forced To Bloom

The wild and unpredictable Spring weather continues to keep everyone on their toes. We had a taste of summer that lasted over a week with temperatures in the mid to upper 80's - and even hit 90 degrees on two occasions. Then a wind and rain storm of biblical proportions blew threw and the nights were back down in the 30's with highs during the daytime in the 40's and 50's ... and then back to 70's and 80's again until today when I woke up to 34 degrees. It's gotten to the point where I have to make sure I have several items of clothes for every season available since I never know what I'll wake up to!

If you think this see-saw weather is challenging on humans, one can only imagine what it is doing for the trees and plants. The little tree in the front yard next door usually isn't fully in bloom until early May. It burst into leaf in 10 days! Everyone's front lawns look like the colors of June, the daffodils, tulips and crocus shot up out of nowhere, and the dandelions are already blanketing the neighborhood. Mind you, these things usually take weeks to happen at this time of year in this growing zone, and aren't complete until early to mid May. The unusually hot weather and all the rain has forced them to bloom at an accelerated rate to the dismay of hay fever sufferers. I have to wonder what affect it will have on the plants and trees when summer really gets here. 

As always, I found a life lesson in all of this. Sometimes we humans are forced to bloom before we're ready. Some event in our life, like a death, an illness, a change in our financial status, or family issues, force us to come out of our shells and stop playing it safe. We have to bloom. We have to live our best lives for ourselves and our families. We have to step up to the plate and hit a home run even if we haven't even had a chance to practice first. I'm sure the trees would have loved some time to come into the season gradually as they are accustomed to doing, but the heat and the rain left them no choice but to burst forth and flower. 

For some reason, this unusual Spring makes me think about my life, and life in general. After several months of health challenges that derailed me for a while, this big, bold spring is telling me that it's time to bloom even if I don't feel ready. It's as if the trees and flowers are taunting me, daring me to come out of my warm, dark, cozy cocoon and try my wings. If all of nature can do it, so can I. There's nothing stopping me but me. Time to bloom, girlfriend, time to bloom!

And so it is. 

Answering the Garden's Call

This past Saturday the weather went totally crazy, with temperatures up into the low 70's and plenty of sunshine before a storm tore through and took it down to 28 degrees with snow showers overnight! All I could think about as the temperature went up high enough for me throw open the windows was the pull of my tiny tabletop garden. It called to me: "Perfect day for a clean-up, don't you think?"  So I grabbed my hand tools and went to work.

There is something about spring that calls to the gardener within us like bees to flowers. Visions of plants and flowers bursting into bloom, and ideas for new arrangements, or trying out new plants, flood our minds and hearts. It is our way of shaking off the winter gloom and welcoming in new possibilities. It doesn't have to be a huge garden. It can be pots on a window sill, or, like mine, a small table set up in a safe spot where, with a little work (and lots of YouTube videos), a few pots and a grow light, it can be your own secret garden.

This year I rearranged the entire garden, moving the fairy garden up front:

Gave the larger plants more room - the begonias spent the winter doubling in size!

Can you see the little cat thermometer hiding behind the leaves?

Everyone got a good pruning, had their soil aerated, and got a healthy drink. I won't be adding any new plants just yet. I have lived up here long enough to know that, even with a grow light, we can get hit with an April snowstorm and below freezing overnight temps that will challenge anything new, especially if I'm starting from seed or introducing something that was grown in a hot house. I will wait at least until mid-May to go plant shopping. As for starting plants from seed, while I haven't been successful in doing so in this location, I am contemplating purchasing or creating a mini-greenhouse to give them a better chance of surviving. Just thinking about going shopping for gardening supplies puts a smile on my face!

Sometimes, especially after a long, cold, gloomy winter, it's not the big things that bring us joy, but the little things, things we do with our own hands, things we love, that give spring it's reputation for offering us new ideas, new hopes, and new beginnings. On Saturday, before winter made a last ditch attempt to seize the day, I felt that joy with dirty hands, a fairy village, and plants that, I swear, are happier for the time I spent with them. Love comes in all shapes and colors, even green.

And so it is.

Welcome Spring ... Finally!

The people responsible for creating the Gregorian calendar that we follow obviously never experienced the seasons in upstate New York. It may say that the first day of spring is March 20 on paper, but up here we are as likely to have several inches of snow on the ground as we are to have the first snowdrops popping up in our gardens. This year we were blessed to have a cool but sunny day to welcome spring and I could not resist throwing open my windows to usher in the new season inside as well as outside.

Still, I have been blessed to be able to see small hints that spring is finally upon us. The “angry birds,” as I call them, are once again building a nest in the hollowed out piece of siding on the house next door. Day after day I watch the mother bird haul in nesting material, sometimes pieces of long grasses or corn silks so big she has to drag them inch by inch through the opening. My squirrel family has been more active as well. During the winter they only go out in search of food and return to the warmth of their home under the porch roof as soon as possible. Lately, however, I’ve seen them playing tag in the huge pine tree and across the fences out back. My daughter and I have been putting out scraps of fruit, veggies, nuts and seeds all winter, and now when they see us coming, they sit and wait patiently instead of running away. It warms my heart to think that they trust us now. Of course, the biggest sign was the one that woke me up the other morning as a huge flock of geese came squawking and flapping across the sky overhead announcing to all that they were, indeed, home again. 

As cold as it’s been up here (wind chills in the single digits only a week ago), there have been tiny green shoots poking up through the front gardens of the neighboring houses and in the area surrounding my church, the daffodils have begun to show themselves. I know that we are still far from safe where the weather is concerned, having lived through many April snowstorms in the 30 years I’ve lived up here, but I hold out hope that, perhaps this year, we may get lucky. Yesterday I actually saw an insect flying around outside my window, the first one I’ve seen since autumn. If that’s not a sign that spring is really here, I don’t know what is. I call it a sign of hope carried in on tiny wings. Spring has come again!

And so it is.

Of Nests, and Nuts, and Other Things

It feels like forever since I've been back here, sitting at my desk, watching my furry and feathered neighbors go about their lives and writing about it. I had a total knee replacement done a few weeks ago which has been a lot harder than I thought it would be. This morning as I sat sipping my coffee in the only comfortable armchair in the living room, I heard a slight tapping on the window and some tweeting. From the corner of the window, peeking out from behind the open curtain, sat a little finch on the outside ledge looking in and tapping away. He was only there for a moment, flying off as soon as I struggled to my feet, but it was enough to get me out of my chair, and out of my pity-party, and over to my desk chair to take up my observations once again. The armchair may soothe my body, but my window on the world soothes my soul.

The birds that live in the cracks and crevices of the house next door have started repairing their nest. In and out they go, hauling strands of dried corn silk, long grasses and other items bigger than they are through the hole in the siding. This will be their third year there and I can't wait until that spring morning when I see tiny beaks poking out, calling for their breakfast. 

My daughter has been taking care of my squirrel friends while I have been laid up and unable to haul food out to them. We have had some crazy weather, spring one day and winter the next, but I did notice that they are moving around more, scampering up and down the pine tree and even playing tag from time to time. We have continued to put out nuts and seeds for them as well as for the birds. Recently I saw two of my neighbors also putting out nuts and scraps. Maybe I've started a trend. It warms my heart to know that others feel for our animal relations as well.

Sometimes even in the darkest moments of life, it's the little things that help to pull us out of our misery and into the light of a new day. That little tap, tap, tap, on my window this morning helped me to rise and move on, redirecting my attention on the positive. If birds are nest building, can spring be far behind? If squirrels are playing tag again, and the first tiny shoots of the daffodils are pushing up through the ground, can baby birds and buds on trees be on their way? Those are the things I will look for now. Those are the things that will get me up and out of my comfort zone and over to my window on the world until I can be out there with my little neighbors, spreading nuts, seeds, and love.

And so it is.