Opening the Way

I have not posted anything to my blog in while. I know that is a cardinal sin of blogging, especially if you want your blog to be read. But, I think not hearing someone speak for a while is refreshing. To me, it means they have a life, which they are engaged in living, and they have taken a pause to gather some new experiences.

The last time I published, I was excited about planting the tulips. I didn't make it outside that day and wound up waiting. This past Saturday, on a rare-of-late sunny day whim, I donned some tennies, a hat, and a sweater and cleaned up the garden beds.

There had been a freeze the night before, so all of the south facing dahlias were dangling limply and oddly looking both wet and icy at the same time. They were covered with buds, but I knew their season was over so I sheared them all.  On the east side of the house, I gathered the last of the garden fruits, that is, exactly eleven tomatos, two small eggplants, and two turning red bell peppers.  There were also three fat, spiky cucumbers.  The cherry tomato plant was also covered with small, green tomatos which I left behind because they were weeping from the prior night's freeze.  A few other items were left on the plants, too, which I cut down and left to return to the ground.

On the other side of the house -- the west side -- I pulled out several of the gladiolas that had bloomed and were now laying wildly about, some of them pushing other plants in various directions.  The glads did not bloom as long or as hardily this year as last; maybe I planted them too late afterall.  In place of the dahlias and the all along the west and north sides of the house, I planted tulips.  Maybe I had a hundred bulbs total, but I don't know if they will all bloom.  Last year, I planted one here and one there and another over there, so they stood lonely in the ground like strangers on the street.  This year, I planted them in groups.  I hope they bloom in the spring; they will be so pretty.

I was thinking about how this planting and waiting is so exciting and peace giving and easy in the garden.  Even though so many things can go wrong -- not enough sun; not enough rain; too much wind; a late freeze; poor soil; and so on -- I have a faith that the plants will come.  If not all of them, enough of them will grow to make my efforts worth while.  And all winter long, I just wait.  I know that I have planted the seeds or the bulbs and they will come.  Patience is imposed on me.  If only waiting for daily connections, periodic occasions, or life events could be so peace giving.  If planting the seeds for them could be so exciting and full of firm expectation.  If only the patience imposed on me could be as easy . . . maybe I would be more content and more settled.  What do you think?