Spring Surprises

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flowering quince, gardening, hellebores, lilacs, seasons, seasons of life, snowdrops, spring, surprises, weeds

One of the things I enjoy most about spring is finding surprises in my garden. Flowers bloom at times and in places that I don’t expect, lifting my heart as I drive into the driveway or look out the windows to our back yard.

A few years ago I was puzzled when clumps of snowdrops bloomed in late January–I didn’t remember planting them. A few days later, as I stared out through late winter rain, I suddenly remembered my last visit to my parent’s property the day before new owners took possession. I’d put a shovel and some empty pots in the trunk of my car, hoping to get a few souvenirs from Dad’s garden. I filled the pots with violets and starts of lilac and flowering quince. At the last minute, I dug up some unidentified clumps of strappy green leaves. Now, nearly a year later, those green clumps produced the first flowers to bloom  in my own garden, pristine white bells nodding above early spring snow.

This year, one of the surprises was the unexpected blossoming of a clump of Bear’s Foot Hellebore. Its bright chartreuse is a nice contrast to darker green ferns and the brown back fence. While I vaguely remember planting it sometime in the past, this was its “ta-da” appearance.

Unfortunately, not all the surprises are welcome. Major surgery two years ago prevented normal garden maintenance, allowing weeds to successfully mount a distressing coup d’etat. I’m reluctantly considering retaliating with weapons of mass destruction.

Considering both pleasant and unpleasant revelations as spring progresses, I think about unexpected surprises when life’s seasons change. Sometimes in the busyness of daily living, I forget the work that God has done in a particular area of my life. When there’s a change of seasons, and I find myself flourishing in unexpected places. Alternatively, if I neglected a particular area in a previous season, I may find negative thoughts or attitudes sprouting in unexpected places.

What surprises are you finding in this season of your life?

Weeds, again (of course)

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attitudes, garden, gardening, weed seeds, weeds

Scratches, scrapes, bruises, and thorn punctures have always been part of my gardening experience. No matter how well I try to protect myself, I always end up a little battered after working in the garden. It’s a price I gladly pay for the pleasure of creating a sanctuary in my back yard.

Yesterday, while Larry stained the fence, I pulled weeds. And more weeds. Amending the beds with compost each year is a double-edged sword. It provides wonderful soil for my flowers, vegetable and berries; and it provides wonderful soil for weeds. Short of continual applications of toxic weedkiller, getting rid of weeds is never-ending work. I’ve considered hosting a “Garden(ing) Party”, offering my friends an alfresco lunch in exchange for an hour of weed-pulling.

It’s always startling to go back into the garden after weeding and find a glaringly obvious weed that I missed.  Apparently I’m not alone in that. On my morning walk recently, I glanced at a lovely purple and white iris. Then I looked again as I noticed several large weeds growing beside it, apparently overlooked by the resident gardener. I was tempted to reach in and yank them out, but wasn’t sure if my help would be welcome.

As my writer friend Carol commented on my previous post about weeds, we can benefit from being connected to others who may be willing to help pull weeds when we’re not able.  It’s vital not just because of the weeds—it’s the weed seeds, as well. In this photo, you could count a dozen flower buds on the prominent weed in the center. If this weed blooms and goes to seed, it could release more than a thousand seeds, each able to reproduce in kind. Some will just land among the iris stalks, others will be borne by wind, birds, trouser hems and sneaker soles to invade other gardens or even other neighborhoods.

It’s dismaying to see the potential “weeds” in my life—attitudes, unconsidered actions, thought patterns—that could affect not only my own “garden”, but inadvertently spread around me. I’m very grateful for those close to me who not only see the weeds, but are willing to help deal with them. In a good friendship, as in gardening, there’s always job security.

THRIVE

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abundant life, Australia, gardening, hapiness, languish, pleasure, Sydney, thrive

When I first saw the word THRIVE used as a tagline by our health care provider, I thought it was gimmicky. But after reading it repeatedly on their posters, flyers, pamphlets, billboards, and website, the message is beginning to penetrate. It says to me that there’s so much more to living than not being ill or injured; we should expect to experience all of life with a sense of excitement, anticipation, and happiness.

Watching plants thrive is one of the joys of gardening.  It’s not enough just to have a space without weeds, debris, or rotting vegetation. Much of my pleasure comes from seeing luxuriant, healthy growth, abundant blossoms and succulent fruit.

In my forty-year gardening career I have seen many plants thrive, and others languish. I didn’t have space or time for a large garden when we lived in Sydney, Australia,  but the basil I planted flourished and grew waist-high, while the tomatoes were sickly and stunted. Plenty of pesto, not much marinara! The basic elements of soil, water and fertilizer may have been similar, but the end product was significantly different.

There are areas of my life in this season that are thriving; other parts seem a little wilted, the leaves slightly yellowed, the fruit a bit sparse. If I want to fully experience what Jesus said he came to bring–an abundant life, rich and satisfying–then I’m going to have to go back to the basics. Am I getting enough water, nourishment, sunshine? Have I allowed other things to crowd my growth? Do I have adequate protection from the elements?

I’m so grateful that the Master Gardener has given us a manual for life. I’ll be searching for the answers.

Weeds, and other disorderly growing things

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borders, bouquets, gardening, negative attitude, negative thoughts, weeds

After two years of partial neglect, my garden has been overtaken by weeds.  Last year, I was recovering from major surgery, and the pulling, bending and stretching required for gardening wasn’t on my doctor’s list of approved activities. The previous summer, I spent every spare hour at my sister’s bedside as she fought the last battle of her war with cancer. This summer, back to new-normal gardening, we have pulled countless armloads of weeds, but they still multiply overnight.

And it’s not just the weeds! While I love the soft froth of pale blue forget-me-nots and bright chartreuse lady’s mantle in my border and in bouquets, this year they seem to have forgotten their manners. Like undisciplined children taking advantage of a kindly neighbor, these plants have sneaked into many off-limits areas. They even joined forces, navigated forty-five feet of lawn, and invaded my rose bed with their crowd of unruly offspring. I bought one plant of each several years ago; now there are dozens threatening the space of more well-bred plants like roses, iris, and peonies.

This morning, as I yanked dozens of unwanted seedlings from my borders and gravel paths, I thought how easily our life can be overrun by “weeds.” Without constant attention, a negative thought multiplies, becoming a negative attitude. An unconsidered action is repeated, and becomes a habit. We resist God’s grace to deal with an offense, and it quickly takes root and spreads, popping up in other relationships.

For a pleasant garden or a productive life, pulling weeds is an unavoidable necessity.

A Borrowed View

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backdrop, Bible, borrowed view, Columbia River, eternal, garden design, gardening, God, landscaping, panorama, peace, perspective, Portland, vista

borŸrowed view (bŏr´rōd  vyoo)  „ n.  In landscaping, the design technique of including views beyond the garden.

The idea of a “borrowed view” has intrigued me since I first read of it in a landscaping book. In creating grand European gardens, designers often included far-reaching views of meadows, hills, or other topography. By “borrowing” features outside the garden, they created expansive panoramas or calming vistas.

As a country girl transplanted to the city, I love looking beyond the confines of our small fenced back yard and enjoying the open borrowed view of the sky and distant hills. Sometimes it’s a beautiful sunset, other times the sweeping flights of innumerable starlings heading for their evening roost across the river. If I look another direction, I see the glittering Columbia River, the city of Portland, and the purple hills beyond. I’m able to lift my eyes and my heart beyond the concerns and challenges of the moment and expand my perspective, bringing peace and rest to my soul.

But more than my physical borrowed view, I treasure the eternal borrowed view in my life: God’s love revealed through His personal love letter, The Bible. It’s an unchanging backdrop that has shaped my life, my thinking, my choices, my goals, my activities, my relationships.

Take a few moments and join me in looking at life from that eternal perspective—it’s a wonderful view!