No Expiration Date

As I seem to have fallen behind on a few deadlines and need to get caught up, I offer this post taken from my ebook: "Staying Rooted: Living And Growing Through The Seasons Of Our Lives," available from Amazon.com/Kindle.

During my novice years learning to garden, and grow myself in the process along with the flowers and veggies, I became obsessed with learning everything there was to learn on the subject. Let's face it, I came to gardening later in life and felt I had a great deal of catching up to do. So I became an ardent fan of Victory Garden and HGTV, and read every book and magazine I could find. However, some of the best education and advice I got came from the gracious women I got to know in my adopted home town of Marathon, NY.  It would come in casual conversation and news shared with the neighbor next door, with the ladies picking up their mail at the post office, striking up a conversation at the grocery store about the weather and their gardens, visits to the meetings of the historical society and garden clubs, or whoever might be hanging out in Riley's Diner over a cup of coffee. There is nothing to compare with learning about gardening from those who have it in their blood passed down from generation to generation.

One of the things I learned that surprised me the most was that seeds packets have an expiration date. Really? Who would have thought? After all, to my inexperienced eye they already looked old and dried up. How did you tell if they had "gone bad?" Did they start to smell like old milk? Grow mold like forgotten leftovers in the back of the refrigerator? "You'll know," they told me, and indeed, I did ... when you plant them, nothing grows! Of course, there is also an expiration date on the seed envelope if you’re smart enough to look for it. Nothing like the obvious, right?

Thankfully, the same premise does not hold true for dreams: There are no expiration dates on dreams! It doesn't matter how long you've had them. True, you may have to take them down off the dark shelf of your mind where you've been hiding them all of these years and dust them off. You may even have to update them given today's technology or changing ideas. It doesn't matter if you are a novice, an old hand, or somewhere in-between. Dreams never lose their capacity to grow into something wonderful.

I think this is a perfect time of the year to reflect on this idea as we witness new birth and new beginnings. Plants have taken root and are starting to flourish. The new crop of baby birds, bunnies and our other animal relations have found their wings (or bunny feet) and are exploring their new world.

Find your wings.  Dust off those dreams. Get busy. And so it is.

A Matter Of Perseverance

I'm almost as tired of writing about rain as I am having to look at it. Today, however, we are adding a new element ... snow flurries. Yes, you read that right; snow flurries ... in May.

Breaking News: The report of the arrival of Spring in our area is "fake news." Snow showers are predicted to mix in with yet more rain in the early morning hours.

Yesterday I spent some time at my daughter's house. My 10 year old granddaughter is as anxious as Grandma is to start tearing that yard apart and creating our garden. She is even more excited about getting started since she received an Easter Basket filed with gardening hand tools and a brand new pair of gardening gloves! She kept asking me: "Grandma, when can we get started? Is it ever going to stop raining?" I had to tell her that while Grandma may, indeed, be in her wisdom years, it does not extend to weather prediction or any insider information about what Mother Nature is trying to tell us. All I know is that it takes perseverance to be a gardener.

"Perseverance (noun): Steadfastness in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success."

I've head people tell me for many years that I must be crazy to be a gardener. You put your blood, sweat and tears, not to mention your back and knees, into creating this lovely living canvas only to see a wicked storm or frost destroy all of your hard work. What do I tell them? It's not about the finished product; it's about the process. It's about getting your hands in the dirt, pressing your fingers to the ground, and feeling the heartbeat of Mother Earth. It's about watching the birds and insects go about their business, which has a direct affect on our business; namely, the environment. It's about witnessing the miracle of growth from seed to bloom, from seedling to tomato, from sapling to tree. And if something comes along to tear it all up? You just grab a rake and a shovel, clean it up, and start again. Mother Nature does it all the time. Who are we to argue with that kind of success?

I often think about writing the same way that I think about gardening. There, too, I've had people tell me that writing is a useless profession: "You'll never make any money at it; only a handful ever make it to the Best Seller List." Absolutely. So why do it? For the gift of the process: for the joy of playing with words, of stringing them together to create a thought on paper, for the power of knowing that someone, somewhere, will read your words and be changed by them even if no one else ever does. I would go so far as to say that it takes even more perseverance to be a writer than to be a gardener because you often don't see the fruits of your labor before your eyes. Instead, you feel it in your heart.

The latest forecast has sunshine and 60 degrees returning mid-week into the weekend, just in time for Mother's Day. Hey, Mother Nature is no fool. She knows what she's doing. She's giving us a much needed lesson in faith ... with a little perseverance thrown in!

And so it is.

Starting From Scratch

I have a favorite guided meditation that I like to use when I am starting a project from scratch, or starting one over again after some hits and misses. The meditation is called "Starting Anew" from meditation teacher and author Davidji. The words of the meditation assure us that each of us deserves second chances (Note: Oh! Second Chances just happens to be the title of the second ebook in my Third Age Trilogy ... more on that to come). In the case of the job I am about to undertake, I'll need all the second chances I can get ... and third ... and fourth ... well, you get the idea.

Just like I admit to the fact that the baking gene skipped me and went to my daughters and my two granddaughters, my youngest daughter missed out on the gardening gene. In our family, she is known as the Black Thumb. We don't even let her babysit plants while we're away. She did manage to create a beautiful little fairy garden in a pot for me for Easter. Luckily it only had to stay in her house for a short time and my granddaughter kept watch over it. In any case, since I have moved into an apartment with no garden space available to tend this year, and windowsills not big enough for both plants and cats to sunbathe, I have decided to tackle my daughter's yard and turn it from an unidentifiable jungle into something pleasing to look at. It will be a place where the kids can play in nature and learn about growing organic food. This will challenge all of my gardening know-how and "thinking-outside-the-box" creativity. The garden has not been touched in years. Some things are unidentifiable and others have been so savagely hacked backed instead of pruned that they may never recover. Still, I am not deterred. Sometimes it takes starting again from scratch to give us an opportunity to sharpen our skills and see what we can create out of nothing.

I know there are times in our lives when we have to start over from scratch. We grow up and leave home requiring us to set up housekeeping for ourselves for the first time. Or, we get married and start a new life. We move to a new state, take a new job, go back to school, become a parent for the first time; so many ways in which we have to go back to basics and either learn something new or relearn something old. The thing to remember is that life gives us all what I like to call "Do-Overs," just  like the extra turns we got as kids when we were playing with our friends. When we start from scratch, we can create what we want the way we want it, not the way someone else said we should, or we can try something new and exciting. Life is nothing if it's not filled with adventure and exploration.

I invite you to find something in your own life that you could start from scratch to stretch your imagination and creativity. It's a wonderful feeling when we see our creation come to life and can say with pride: "I did that!" Of course in my case, a garden, even one as bad as this one, is easier to create than a batch of cookies, especially ones that could qualify as hockey pucks in the NHL ... word of honor! Happy creating.

And so it is.

P.S. About those ebooks. Keep your eyes open for an announcement soon of a sale on books One and Two of the Third Age Trilogy in anticipation of the release of book Three in the coming weeks. All are available from Amazon Kindle. I'll be posting the links and info soon. In the meantime, if you'd like to take a peek, just type Barb Parcells in the search and they will come up, along with my first book of favorite Flower Bear's Garden blog posts called: "Staying Rooted." More to come! Stay tuned!

Life In Fast Forward

I am a huge fan of award-winning cinematographer and producer Louie Schwartzberg. He calls his work "Moving Art," and art it certainly is. I have never been so moved by the videos of flowers in bloom, clouds passing in the sky, or watching an entire 24 hour day go by in one place in a matter of minutes. Time lapse photography has been around for many years. I can remember watching a Walt Disney special on TV when I was young about life in the desert. That was the first time I got to see a cactus bloom before my eyes, and a sand turtle baby hatching. Schwartzberg has taken it to a whole other level. He captures the moments that take our breath away.

I have often wondered if I would like to go back and see my life in time lapse like Louie's flowers. I suppose it would be fun to see my birth, childhood Christmases and birthdays that were special (like the year I got the Shirley Temple doll I asked for and cried for hours in joy), my favorite vacations and such. Would I want to see all my least favorite moments as well? Not so much, which begs the question: "Would I want to see what is ahead of me as well?" It's all very nice to watch a mushroom grow in front of our eyes, or watch a storm rolling in over the prairie, but would I want to see my grandchildren all grown, my daughters with grey hair, and my death? Would I want to see my life in fast forward?

Watching nature come to life before our eyes is a lovely experience, but watching our own lives is a moment by present moment experience. The goal is not to know how it ends. That is like knowing the end of a good book before you get there; you already know who did it, so why bother to read on? By the same thinking, why go after your dreams and experience all that life has to offer if you already know what will happen? Life is about the journey itself, not the end of it. I want to be surprised, just like I was when I got the Shirley Temple doll! I want to cry with joy, jump up and down in excitement, and screech with delight, at the moments that come into my life unexpectedly. That means I also have to be willing to accept the other not-so-happy moments that may come as well. It's called Life's Journey, not Life's Movie.

I'm still going to continue to enjoy Moving Art. It enables me to see things I may never get the chance to see in person. I can experience both the beauty and the fury of Mother Nature in all her glory. I'm also going to do my best to continue to enjoy my own Moving Life, in all of its glory and in all of its fury, except in this case, I get to see it all in person. That beats a movie any time.

And so it is.

The Call to Bloom

Spring comes slowly to the Northeast. It struggles through days of sunshine and warmth as well as cold, snow and chilling rain. Sooner or later, though, the need to push through the soil, or burst out onto the branch, becomes so strong that nothing can hold it back any longer.

“And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom.”

Anais Nin

There is something that happens to us when we hear the songs of birds calling for their mates on a soft, breezy spring morning. There is hope in that breeze, and promise in that birdsong. There is a strong urge to answer an inner calling from our soul. We are being called to bloom as well.

We all get that inner urge to break out of that tight bud we have lived in for so long and spread our wings. Winter can feel as if it will last forever, and sometimes the winter of our souls feel the same way. Then one day we find that staying tight in that darkness, even if we think we are protecting ourselves from the cold, cruel world, hurts more than taking a chance in the bright light of spring. We know we must answer the call to bloom. That is when we have to trust that, just like the birds and the trees, spring will come again. We just let go, surrender to the timeless rhythms of life.

Yes, there will be ups and downs. Yes, some things will bloom perfectly and some won’t. Yes, some dreams will get off the ground and some won’t. Yet what a shame to never know all we can be. Don’t fight that call to bloom. Answer it. Who knows? You might do more than bloom. You might fly!

And so it is.

Mending Fences

With the return of Spring, finally, I am enjoying getting back out there for my daily walks. I especially like to stroll through the neighborhood on the weekends so I can watch folks getting their yards ready for the season. Yesterday I saw one man tending to some damage from last month's late season snow storm. He was mending a fence that had broken under the weight of the snow and some fallen tree branches. Fence mending is an important aspect of gardening. It keeps the critters out and provides something for climbing plants to cling to. It also supports larger bushes and shrubs as they grow. Yep, fence mending is a very important job.

Watching that man reminded me of something I'd seen online last week. It was a video of a little girl about 5 years old who was explaining why it was important to be nice to people. She said that if you're mean to people you might: "break their feelings." I found that phrase to be very profound coming from one so young. I'm sure she'd heard grown-ups talking about not "hurting" some one's feelings, but "breaking" some one's feelings puts a different twist on it, because it follows that if you break something you need to fix it as well.

More often than not most of us do not set out to hurt some one's feelings. We may blurt something out without thinking, or react to our own hurt without considering all the innocent bystanders. Especially in these days of social media, it is easier to put something out there that is intended to inform or explain, but ends up being hurtful to someone who doesn't know your story and can't see your face or hear your tone when you say it. When we realize that we've "broken some one's feelings," we need to dig into our spiritual tool box and do some fence mending.

So what do you have in your tool box? Honesty, apology, love, understanding, consideration, putting yourself in the other's shoes, compassion, empathy? So many tools are at our disposal if we just take the time to admit our mistake, take responsibility for it, and mend those fences. If a well-mended fence can help support the plants in the garden, how much stronger can this garden that we call life grow?

I think I'll take another walk around the block and see how that man is making out. Maybe he can use some help.

And so it is.

Letting The Beauty In

I found this quote in a book the other day:

“As we age the beauty steals inward.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

What a lovely thought that is. I’ve heard of things getting better with age, like fine wine, but beautiful? Now where have I come across this idea before? Of course, where else? In the garden!

I’ve watched a new young sapling struggling to stay upright to become a canopy of luscious greens in spring and summer, and brilliant reds and golds in autumn – but only after years and years of earning its beauty through harsh winter storms. I’ve seen daffodils push through the early spring soil and give us our first colors of the season year after year, but only after they have paid their winter dues as well. As I write this, my eyes look out of the window and fixate on the huge pine tree that sits on the other side of the house next door. I cannot even begin to guess at its height … 50, 60 feet? More? How old must that tree be? Yet it is the first thing I look at when I wake up and hear the neighborhood birds singing in a new day in its branches, and watch Gus, the squirrel, scampering up its trunk for breakfast. It’s also the last thing I see as the sun sets in a blaze of glory behind it, casting it in a huge, magnificent shadow. It was cute when it was little, but it is beautiful in its old age.

So here is another lesson for all of us from the garden: we all get more beautiful as we age. We become more real, more of who we really are. Our beauty is honed from the trials and tribulations of life, and polished to perfection by experience and wisdom. It shines out from our spirits, through our eyes, and our smiles, and our gestures of love. The more winters we learn to survive, the more springs we bloom with gratitude, and gratitude is a beautiful thing, wouldn’t you agree?

And so it is.

I found this quote in a book the other day:

“As we age the beauty steals inward.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

What a lovely thought that is. I’ve heard of things getting better with age, like fine wine, but beautiful? Now where have I come across this idea before? Of course, where else? In the garden!

I’ve watched a new young sapling struggling to stay upright become a canopy of lucious greens in spring and summer, and brilliant reds and golds in autumn – but only after years and years of earning its beauty through harsh winter storms. I’ve seen daffodils push through the early spring soil and give us our first colors of the season year after year, but only after they have paid their winter dues as well. As I write this, my eyes look out of the window and fixate on the huge, huge pine tree that sits on the other side of the house next door. I cannot even begin to guess at its height … 50, 60 feet? More? How old must that tree be? Yet it is the first thing I look at when I wake up and hear the neighborhood birds singing in a new day in its branches, and watch Gus, the squirrel, scampering up its trunk for breakfast. It’s also the last thing I see as the sun sets in a blaze of glory behind it, casting it in a huge, magnificent shadow. It was cute when it was little, but it is beautiful in its old age.

So here is another lesson for all of us from the garden: we all get more beautiful as we age. We become more real, more of who we really are. Our beauty is honed from the trials and tribulations of life, and polished to perfection by experience and wisdom. It shines out from our spirits, through our eyes, and our smiles, and our gestures of love. The more winters we learn to survive, the more springs we bloom with gratitude, and gratitude is a beautiful thing, wouldn’t you agree?

And so it is.