Sans Fig Leaf
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"For just a moment"
6 July, 2006
The fuchsias are blooming. In the hanging basket over our front porch the dark red buds are swelling, then bursting into blooms with purple or pink centers. Several light pink buds have also opened up, revealing very delicate white centers. The large white buds are still growing. I look forward to their opening soon.
I love flowers. I'm only so-so at growing them. Over the years I've learned to tend tulips, and trim roses. I've learned that porticula and dianthus can survive my occasional forgetfulness with the watering far better than many of the fancier varieties of flower.
Though I long to grow some of the more exotic plants discussed on the gardening shows and displayed at the nurseries, I've learned through past experience that they're not likely to survive my disorganized gardening habits.
The fuchsias are the most complicated plant I've managed. And I got through my first year in no small part due to my friend, Keith, occasionally sending me reminders to water them--because growing in a hanging moss basket they dry out more quickly than the flowers in the ground or in pots, so they have to be watered more often.
I've done as well as I have with the plants, both inside the house and out by developing habits which sound like obsessive-compulsive disorder when I describe the ideal. Unfortunately I frequently forget. So the plants go a few extra days between waterings, or the timed lights for the indoor plants stay in winter mode a month or two longer than they ought.
The survival of all the houseplants and flowers that I have has come at a price: the deaths of many that weren't hardy enough deal with neglect. I think of it as a form of natural selection.
Occasionally I feel guilty. Perhaps it would be better for me to throw in the trowel. Stop spending money on plant foods and replacement plants and seeds and so forth. Put the time to some other use.
It's tempting. There are places in the world where people are dying of starvation, or of preventable disease simply for lack of medicine. My wilted violas and scraggly azaleas seem so trivial compared the things like that.
Then we have moments like one this afternoon. I had just spoken to Michael on the phone. He was a few blocks from the house, nearly home from work. It had been a very tiring work day for me, in no small part because of an unpleasant medical procedure the day before. I was cranky. I wanted him to be home, to lend a sympathetic ear, or at least perk me up with a smile.
And when I stepped out on the porch to see if he was there, I found myself gazing at the fuchsias. So pretty and delicate and alive.
For just a moment, I forgot about the tiring day, the sore parts of my body, and all the irritations.
I didn't have any great epiphanies. It didn't cure my crankiness. The phone started ringing as one friend called and Michael zoomed around the corner and life moved on.
That little moment wasn't a revelation or a salvation. It was just a pause. A chance for me to take a breath before putting one foot in front of the other and getting on with things.
And it's far from worthless.
Everything has its beauty but not everyone sees it.
--Confucius
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