Awakening From Hibernation

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In some areas, it’s not quite spring but we are well over winter. The trees and flowers are just beginning to stir. The first signs of the cherry blossoms have appeared. The daffodils are letting their yellow undercoats peek out at the tepid sun. Tree branches are rounded with the soft buds of the new leaves. The stirrings are not limited to the plants. Joggers are beginning to fill the trails, especially on those days between cold and rain fronts. The squirrels are out in force, digging up the acorns they buried months ago. The birds have lifted their self-imposed ban on song and their chirps and warbles fill the mornings once again.

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It’s natural to hibernate when the world outside becomes too harsh to bear. It’s instinctive to curl up and tuck in, settling into a protective stasis. We do it annually to some extent as we follow the natural rhythms of shorter days and colder nights. We tend to narrow our worlds in the winter, paring back and slowing down. It is a time of restoration.

That contraction is countered by the expansion that occurs each spring, as we expand our reach along with the increasing hours in a day. It’s an instinctive cycle, an inhalation and exhalation on a broad scale. We are not unlike the flowers in our balance of growth and rest.

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And, just like the blossoms, we can have our rhythm disturbed. A sudden late freeze will send the plants into shock, causing them to die back and halt their growth until they feel like it’s safe to peek their petals out again. A sudden shock can just as easily cause us to slow and even stop. Parts of us can die, turning withered and black. It can lead to a period of hibernation as the body and mind turn inward. The body slows, the appetite decreases and the brain becomes sluggish.

It’s a natural response to a sudden freeze where the world becomes inhospitable and fierce. Don’t try to resist the natural cycles – you’ll lose. Be with it; ride it out. Curl up and hide but don’t forget to look outside for the first signs of spring and allow yourself to spread and grow as the sun’s first warmth touches you again.

The flowers never let the risk of a late freeze keep them from showing their beauty. Why should you?

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Time to Bloom

Posted on by stilllearning2b

You would think I would know better by now.

But apparently I don’t.

Okay, so that’s not quite true.

I DO know better. I just choose to ignore what I know I should do so that I can instead do what I want to do.

Sometimes the risk pays off and the rewards are early and plentiful.

Other times?

The risk leads to added work, stunted progress or even an early demise.

The official frost-free date for the Atlanta area is April 15. This means that, to be safe, nothing other than the hardiest of shrubs or perennials should be placed in the ground until that date.

And after emerging from the dark of winter, the middle of April feels a lifetime away. Added to that are the early blooms catcalling to me on every corner and the seduction of 80 degree days interspersed among the cold, damp days of early spring.

And so, like every other year I’ve had a plot of soil, I gave in. I spent all day Saturday turning this

photo 2into this.

photo 1And now there is a freeze predicted for the coming weekend. And if I don’t respond, my new plants will end up stunted or even dead.

But even though I will be hauling blankets and towels across my yard this weekend, I don’t regret my choice. Those early flowers are bringing joy now and with a little TLC over the next couple weeks, will become a permanent tapestry in the garden.

I had to laugh at myself this past weekend as I stubbornly and impatiently ignored the advice of the experts as I tucked the tender foliage into the cool soil. I was reminded of how I was after my ex left. When I stubbornly and impatiently ignored the advice of the experts as I dove headfirst into the dating world.

I was advised to wait until the divorce was final to begin dating. But that still-unknown date felt like a lifetime away. Besides, the marriage was dead and buried the day he left. I was counseled to wait until I was healed before fraternizing with other men. But even though I was making progress, healed as a finality still seemed an impossibility (and I also fully believe that some areas of healing can only happen within the context of a new relationship). Besides, I reasoned, I’m not looking for a relationship. Just some dates for some education and distraction. It was suggested that I start out slowly, testing the dating waters (and my own constitution) before going all-in.

I stubbornly and impatiently ignored all of that advice, signing up for Match and (over)filling my dating calendar.

It was a risk. I was still a tender plant not yet toughened to the harsh world outside the protection of the nursery. I could have faced stunted growth or even my destruction.

I wasn’t ignorant of these facts. But I chose to ignore them.

To heed the drive inside that demanded growth and blooms.

To feed the soul that craved some beauty in a life that had been reduced to rubbish.

To believe the hope that abundance would return and that roots would form again.

It wasn’t always an easy path. There were times I had to cover myself in blankets as I waited out a chill I was not yet strong enough to endure. I faced setbacks and challenges. But I do not regret my choice.

There are always those who advocate waiting to explore love again. There is often prudence to waiting. But it can also become a trap of never finding the perfect conditions.

My advice?

You’re ready when the urge to grow becomes greater than the need to hibernate.

You’re ready when the potential of the rewards makes the risks seem bearable.

You’re ready when you can accept that the blooms may be temporary, but that you can enjoy them nonetheless.

And most importantly –

You’re ready when you’re ready. Not when some expert tells you that you should be.

Plant Your Bulbs

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I get geeked out for spring.

No, really.

I mean I become a full-on fan girl for everything green and growing.

I can shriek as loudly as my students at a One Direction concert when I walk into a well-stocked nursery.

Yeah, it’s kinda sad.

Yesterday afternoon, I took Tiger for a walk around the neighborhood and enjoyed the early spring bulbs just beginning to show their faces after the late and overly harsh winter storms we endured this year. My own yard is late to the party; the ample shade means that it takes just a little longer for everything to grow and bloom.

So I was thrilled when I returned home from the walk to notice the small purple blooms on my leaf litter-covered speedwell. The sight is especially welcome after a week consumed by loss.

photo-145A new cycle has begun.

My planting beds are peppered with green stalks bursting with daffodils ready to bloom. I remember planting those bare, dry lifeless roots in the cold soil last fall. Even though I’ve planted fall bulbs many times, it’s always an exercise in faith. In my region, the bulbs go into the ground just as the warm weather annuals ave gone from bloom to blackened and the perennials are shriveled and brown. It’s a time of death in the garden. And yet I still plant those hard little brown nubs, trusting that life will sprout again.

And it always does.

In the autumns of life, it’s important to plant your bulbs – those roots and beginnings of hope and new life. It is an exercise of faith as you trust that those small beginnings will lead to flowers later. Yet, with patience and nurturing, the blooms always come.

A Picture Is Worth…

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’ve been collecting some random pictures recently that I was hoping to spin into full-fledged blog entries. But the pictures seem to be piling up and the posts don’t seem to be happening. So I decided to let the pictures (pretty much) speak for themselves.

photo 2-111At the dog park, Tiger’s favorite activity is to hang out in the baby pool and attempt to drown a tennis ball. Be like the tennis ball, no matter how frequently life pushes you down, refuse to stay under for long.

photo-142I look at this picture sometimes as a reminder that slow and steady can still get the job done.

photo-143I had these sweatpants for 16 years. I finally trashed them and replaced them (for a whole $5). How often do we hold onto things long past their usefulness?

photo-144I’m officially an Atlantan now that I’ve made it to the Margaret Mitchell house. I learned that the manuscript for Gone With the Wind was on unnumbered pages stuffed into separate envelopes that had to be edited and sorted. I need to shut up about being overwhelmed.

photo-141When we have assumptions, we don’t allow things to unfold in their own way and time. Stand back and be surprised.

photo-145I started treating myself to blooming bulbs next to my computer during the month of February. It’s a beautiful reminder that spring follows every winter.

Spring Bouquet

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I am practically jumping out of my skin. As soon as the morning rush hour dies down (assuming I can be patient that long), I’m driving across town to my favorite discount plant nursery. This place and the planting that followed used to be a spring break ritual for me. I eagerly anticipated the trip, making lists and amending them as their availability page updated. I would fill my car with a hundred small plants (what? they’re cheap!), carefully stacking and wedging pots. The day would be spent planting – the soil my canvas and the plants, my paint.

After the divorce and the subsequent loss of the house, I missed my spring ritual. I mourned the loss of my garden and my daily walks within its walls. I ached for the sight of the new growth pushing through the soil every spring. I wondered how my plants, carefully tended from small starters, were faring under their new owners. My spirit felt the empty hole left by the removal of my garden.

I substituted a membership to the botanical gardens for my own, finding some connection to the soil and nature’s rhythm in that public space.

But it was never the same.

And I wondered if it would ever be.

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We moved into this house in September. One of the reasons we chose the house was its outdoor space. It was full of potential. While waiting for the house to close, I brainstormed a list of plants I wanted to acquire that would complement the space. I started painting the garden in my mind, filling the space with blooms and greenery.

Yet I resisted actually getting my hands dirty.

Some of it was practical.

I was busy painting and moving and setting up the interior space. It was a cold and wet fall, not ideal for planting. And, as the yard and I had just been introduced, I felt like I needed to get to know it a bit better before I went sinking my hands into its depths.

But some of it was emotional.

I poured a lot of my soul into my old garden. And its loss was painful. So painful, that I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to start again. I had become accustomed to being mobile. Setting down literal roots is a commitment. And I wasn’t sure I could handle that risk.

I planned to do some planting this spring, but I didn’t have my old excitement, my old drive, about it. It was matter-of-fact.

Until I pulled up the plant availability page at my favorite nursery two weeks ago.

And then I got giddy. Alive with excitement and possibility.

So now, here I am. My fingers are twitching in anticipation of the trowel. A tarp lies in wait in my trunk, ready to accept its verdant cargo. The beds have been weeded and the trees trimmed. The compost and fertilizer are staged at the side of the yard. All I need are the plants. And some patience:)

I have a garden again.

Colorful_spring_garden

 

In honor of the re-establishment of my spring ritual, here is a bouquet of spring garden themed posts.They are partly about literal gardens. But they are also are metaphorical, highlighting the similarities between nature’s rhythms and our own. All have pictures that remind us that beauty follows even the harshest of winters and words that remind us not to be afraid to bloom.

 

The Garden

In my old life I had a garden.

When we first moved into our home, the 1 acre yard was a motley medley of scraggly grass and tenacious weeds; too wet to mow and too shady for grass to thrive. It was a blank canvas. Slowly, I began to paint, using the medium of small starter plants, tree seedlings obtained from the forestry department, and cuttings and divisions nurtured from friends and neighbors. Click to read the rest.

 

The Beauty of an Early Spring Garden is in the Details

At first glance, the early spring garden is barren. There are few leaves, few flowers, no raucous plants fighting for attention. It is a different garden.

The beauty of an early spring garden is in the details, subtle interplay of color and texture, and the bright green of new growth tentatively poking its head though the soil. In order to see the beauty, the quiet spectacle that is the wakening garden, one must be patient and in tune with the rhythm of life. Click to read the rest.

 

Awakening From Hibernation

Ahh, February. It’s not quite spring but we are well over winter. In the south, the trees and flowers are jut beginning to stir. The first signs of the cherry blossoms have appeared. The daffodils are letting their yellow undercoats peek out at the tepid sun. Tree branches are rounded with the soft buds of the new leaves. The stirrings are not limited to the plants. Joggers are beginning to fill the trails, especially on those days between cold and rain fronts. The squirrels are out in force, digging up the acorns they buried months ago. The birds have lifted their self-imposed ban on song and their chirps and warbles fill the mornings once again.

It’s natural to hibernate when the world outside becomes too harsh to bear. It’s instinctive to curl up and tuck in, settling into a protective stasis. We do it annually to some extent as we follow the natural rhythms of shorter days and colder nights. We tend to narrow our worlds in the winter, paring back and slowing down. It is a time of restoration. Click to read the rest.