Putting Down Roots

This is Bertha. She is a bamboo plant. Notice I said "plant" instead of "tree." Bertha measures almost 5 feet tall. She is approximately 9 years old. 

I purchased Bertha at a marked-down plant sale at Walmart. She was only a few inches tall and was planted in a tiny ceramic pot in very little soil and lots of horticultural grit which improves the pH balance of the soil in plants. I paid $5.00 for her. Bertha followed me from home to home, apartment to apartment and was placed in various locations trying to find the right light, exposure, and moisture for her to grow. Over time I can to accept that she would never grow bigger than about a foot despite all of my best efforts at re-potting and care. Then we moved to my present location, and dear, sweet Bertha came into her own.

From the start, Bertha took to her new home and it didn't take long before she was looking pretty cramped in her pot. I decided to put her in a big planter and position her at a diagonal in front of the window so she would get a southwestern exposure. It was there, through the next 5 years, that Berta finally put down roots and reached for the sky. She had found her home.

Life is so much like gardening. In the garden, we often have to move plants around to find the place where they can put down roots and thrive. Some like a southern exposure, some not. Some need lots of sun, some need partial shade. Some like moist soil, others do not. I have lost count of how many moves I've made in my life, from the time I was a young bride in my 20's, to exploring life in a new state, to becoming a mom and needing to find the best place for my children to put down their own roots, and now, in what I like to call my "third age" (I hate the terms "senior" and "golden years"), I feel as though I have finally found the place where I can put down my own roots. 

I turned 74 this week. Since I've been living in my sweet, cozy, studio apartment with the killer view, I have successfully gone through three joint replacement surgeries, written and published two novels, and am working on a third. I have created a welcoming nest for myself and love coming home to it when I've been away. My creative juices thrive here. If I want exercise, I have a lovely neighborhood to walk around, and 21 steps from the lobby to my apartment (who needs a gym?). I've developed new and improved  plant-based cooking skills in my tiny kitchen just as successfully as if it were a full-sized one. I am content. I feel rooted. 

It doesn't matter if we live in a huge, fancy home with all the bells and whistles, or a tiny apartment with a killer view. What matters is if it is a place where we can put down roots and thrive. Like Bertha, it needs to be a place where we can reach for the sky!

And so it is. 

 

Trusting The Process

The apartment building when I currently live is situated in a lovely, well established, family-type neighborhood surrounded by trees. This affords me hours of entertainment watching the many birds and squirrels that have taken up residence there. In addition to the squirrel family that lives in the porch roof of the house opposite my window, the trees behind the building are especially inviting to my winged and furry friends. They are a varied assortment of evergreens, black chestnut, maple, and a host of others. The only drawback is that often, both in the dead of winter and the sweltering days of summer, my little friends are challenged to find safe, adequate, food and water. After having my heart broken one day watching these little creatures dumpster diving to find food, I decided that I would adopt all of them and become their grandma. 

I started by finding a spot that was near the tree line out back and started leaving nuts, seeds, and the scraps from fresh fruits and vegetables (I am sorry to report that they definitely do not like kale, but that's an acquired taste for anyone). As the weather got warmer and the rain got scarcer, I found an old, small pot I no longer cooked in and placed it under the trees where it wouldn't get too much sun. I kept it cleaned and filled with fresh water. I did have to rig a small wire plant support around it as some of the squirrels were knocking it over when they sat on the edge of it to drink. 

At first, when I would come out every morning, I would see the squirrels sitting on top of the trash dumpster in the parking lot, digging for whatever they could find. As soon as they saw me, they would scatter and disappear. Once I started setting out the food and water, especially the seeds, the birds would come to life and start chattering loudly as if they were sending out a message to their bird relations: "Hey! The food lady is here!" By the time I would check a few hours later, it would all be gone except for the nut shells. As time went on, the squirrels would still scatter when I came out, but they wouldn't go far. One squirrel in particular would stay up in one of the trees but within sight. Then one morning, when I came out to fill the water bowl and lay out some seeds, one of the squirrels went up into the tree right overhead and just sat there, watching me. I spoke to him, softly, as I put out the feast. He would twitch his tail and chatter at me. This has now become a daily ritual for him and I. He sits either in the tree or on the fence a few feet away as I put out the food and water, and we have a chat. He knows I won't hurt him, and that I am there to take care of him. He trusts me. The day I realized that this tiny, furry creature trusted me, when most humans weren't to be trusted in their world, I felt as if I had been blessed. 

If we can get animals in the wild, especially small ones like my buddy here, to trust us instead of run from us, what does that say about how we treat and trust each other? Animals don't know anything about hate or greed. They do know about love. They love their children just like we do. They want to provide for them and keep them safe just like we do. They want to survive, just like we do. They want what we want: a safe place to live, food to eat, shelter from the storms, and to love and be loved. If we can get animals to trust us, why can't we learn to trust and care for each other? The answer is, we can, if we just take it one day at a time, one person at a time, one loving gesture at a time. That's how love grows.

And so it is. 

Welcome Summer!

Summer arrives on Wednesday at 10:58 AM here in my part of the country, but I decided to celebrate a little early and went to our big, regional farmers market on Saturday to get a look at the first pickings of the season. For me, touring farmers markets and gardens is like going to Disney World without the rides and people dressed up like story characters, although I have seen people dressed like fruits and vegetables in other areas!

I am so proud of our local, organic farmers who work so hard to bring us good, healthy food. I know how difficult it is to grow organically, especially these days. To be certified organic, a farm has to go through a lengthy and expensive process with the government. Meanwhile, factory farms who use GMO's, pesticides, and other, non-healthy practices get the subsidies. Our local farmers are heroes to me. 

I have to admit that, being a vegan, I sometimes go overboard when I'm turned loose in this environment. Although I do a lot of my own cooking from scratch, I still live in a studio apartment with a small, apartment-size refrigerator and freezer. My poor veggie bin only holds so much. Since the early greens are in season, I went a little crazy with the spinach, Swiss chard, and green onions. Some of our folks use green houses to get an early start, so I was also able to pick up some yummy mushrooms, a shiny cucumber, and snap peas. Then I had to go home and figure out what to do with it all!

The farmers market was not the only place that gifted me with beautiful produce. My own little tabletop herb garden is doing well and I was able to harvest some parsley and mint to make a batch of tabbouleh for my granddaughter's husband as a surprise for Father's Day. He loves the stuff and summer is when I make a lot of it. It was such a joy and a blessing to use my own homegrown herbs. It came out pretty good if I do say so myself. Then I used some of the Swiss chard to make a chard-tomato-garlic pasta sauce to toss with veggie pasta. Some of the spinach went into a smoothie this morning. 

I'm not here to brag about my vegan cooking skills, but to honor this season of growing, and the hard work and dedication of our local farmers. Small farms that are productive and make the farmers a decent living are few and far between. Factory farms have made it more difficult for them, so I applaud those that have stuck it out and found a way to go on. Perhaps their courage and creativity will inspire a new generation to get out on the land and keep it going. Or, maybe it will encourage us to get out into our gardens, dig up that lawn, and plant the seeds of healthy eating for ourselves, our families, and our communities. As long as there are farmers markets, there is hope for all of us.

And so it is. 

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.