always look deeper

My experience with growing things is there always exists the tug between what nature will cause to happen anyway and what my ego believes that I caused to happen.  I grow and create because the alternative is to stagnate and destroy.  Quite simply, the latter depresses me so I grow and create onward and upward.  Sometimes the environment is so difficult that I feel like I am withering.  When I wither I become afraid and when I am in fear I become angry and certainly not growing and creative.  I am blessed that I have been given the gift to notice beauty and that beauty strengthens me.  I am blessed that my noticing leads to capturing, sharing, and sometimes even creating beauty.

Lately, my human environment has become quite hostile to growing and creating.  It has been a struggle to stand in the middle of a battlefield that does not need to be, a struggle to be forced to chose one side or the other when my heart and soul only wants to find beauty, celebrate, and create an even greater environment.

I am not a simple or stupid woman.  I understand politics and understand the human hurt and heart.  But my gift in life has always been to understand the complex and to reduce it to its most simple form; a form that everyone can understand.  This I believe with all of my being: you will never fix, heal, create anything by being vengeful, angry, hurt, blaming, or fearful.  It is only when we can look deep within ourselves and deep within the heart of the other whom we perceive as our enemy that we can find the beauty and heal the wound that stained the beauty.

It doesn't look real because...

 This blue orchid doesn’t look real because in very important ways it is not real.  It is actually a white orchid that has been infused with a “magical” substance that turns it blue, but only for one blooming season.  During the second blooming season it will revert to white.

I first saw it at a big box garden center.  I was all the way over on the far side of the garden center, but the first thought I had, even from that distance, is those can’t be real.  Still, I was drawn to them.  I mean I could not keep away.  I closely inspected every one of the dozen blue orchids, compared them to all of the other variety of orchids surrounding them, and touched them to make sure they weren’t some sort of realistic silk or plastic.  They had all of the characteristics of real orchids, but still I knew in my gut that they were somehow alien, not natural.  I didn’t have my reading glasses with me so I couldn’t read the tag that would have told me about the “magical” substance that made them blue.

Now, I like things natural.  I take plants home and try to find them a spot outside that will meet their needs without much help from me.  I don’t want plants (or other things) in my life that I have to fuss over.  In spite of being certain that these blue orchids were not natural and would probably require some fussing over, I bought one.  Then I went back and bought another.

Sometimes, even when you know you are being tricked, you take the bait.  You take the bait because, if just for a minute, you want to believe that what cannot possibly be possible is possible.

Change of color in South Florida

Who says we don’t have spectacular fall leaf color changes in South Florida?  The only differencet here and “up north” is in the number of trees and the  variety of colors.  Of course it also helps if you happen to see the tree on the day that color change happens…sort of like not wanting to miss the one day of summer in North Dakota!

This is a Cypress tree (I don’t know if it is bald or not…don’t ask).  For most of the summer it is standing in pond water that has risen because of the almost daily rains.  Now that the rains have become scarce, the pond level has receeded and the Cypress is on dry land again.  This particular Cypress produces “knees” which is sort of cool until they invade the lawn and I run the mower over one or stub my toe on it.

I think it is absolutely beautiful against the clear blue skies of fall.  I planted it when it was just a twig (honestly, it fit in the front seat of my car).  Now I wish I had planted two or three because it takes forever to grow.

Oh well, I never learn.  When I can have more, why would I choose less?  So, this weekend, enjoy yourself and ask for more!

Pretty, but I don't know your name

I have no idea what this plant is called (I know, that is a common theme for me).  I also have no idea where it came from, have no interesting tale to tell about it, and haven’t a clue about what environment it likes to live in.  All I know is once a year it covers itself with these beautiful flowers, usually when nothing else is flowering.  When it turns cold the flowers are gone and the leaves depart soon after that.  It becomes a stickly bush that begs to be pulled up.  Fortunately for it (and me)  I usually am too busy tending to other plants and never get around to yanking it out of the ground.

One of the advantages of not knowing this flower’s name is I have no preconceived ideas about it.  All I have is what it shows me.  It is what it is when it is.  I like that.  Sometimes I wish people didn’t have names or lables either.  Sometimes I would like for each meeting with another person to only be about what is presented in that moment.  Wouldn’t that be different?

I hope you don’t know this flowers name either.  I hope you can just enjoy its beauty…and have a wonderful weekend.

I thought they were natives

I know I haven’t posted anything in over a month.  It wasn’t because there weren’t flowers out there.  I just needed a break.  That said, this week we return to the wonderful world of bromeliads.

I always thought these bro’s were native to Florida and I’ve told plenty of people that they are native.  Then, silly me, I Googled Florida native bromeliads and learned that all native bro’s live in trees.  Oops!  These “former natives” live on the ground, are quite prolific, bloom several times a year, and do well in deep shade or full sun.  With such adaptability you can see why I would think they are native.  Of course they will probably turn out to be invasive and the plant police will come knocking on my door any day now.

This particular clump was thrown under an old oak to await a time in the future when I had time to divide and plant them elsewhere. That was more than ten years ago.  The old oak isn’t even technically on my property although you would never guess that by looking at it (and I didn’t either until a survey showed me the error of my ways).  I’ve maintained the property around the old oak since 1998  just like it had been before I bought my house.  So technically, if the plant police show up, do the bro’s belong to me or the unknown owner of the land under the oak?

Anyway, I hope you have great weekend.  I’m going to a barn dance across the street.  I hope you have something just as novel planned.

why I moved here

Many years ago I was returning to work after my annual CPA visit re taxes (sort of like a pap smear but worse).  I was fuming because I was having to pay taxes on something I did not benefit from and I knew I couldn’t go back to work that angry.  As I drove down the road, I saw a street sign for a road I had never been down.  I knew the unknown always helped me to learn and relax, to let go of what was.  So I turned down the road as a way to cool off.  Just before the road turned and became an entirely different road, I saw a “For Sale” sign being put out by the road.  I stopped.  There was a winding dirt driveway so pitted with potholes I did not want to go up it.  I walked.  At the start of the second bend in the driveway I saw this magnificent Banyan.  I was breathless…I felt like I was home…I felt embraced.  The house was vacant and sterile.  It had never been air conditioned.  It had no appliances.  The land was overgrown and deceiving.  The windows and doors promised to stay in place only if I promised to not push too hard.  All in all, the house structure was not  a “good deal.”  Still, the banyan called to me.  I was torn between love and reality.

Two people helped me to overcome my fear of making the wrong decision.  The first was my good friend Mary who led me down a gentle “imagine what you see” guided path.  When she asked me what I imagined, I said the tree but further questioning led to “I hear children laughing.”  She said, “You already know the answer to whether to purchase this property or not.  Go with your heart.”   The second important person was my cousin Doris.  She is a Realtor.  I called her to handle the offer and closing details.  When we got close to the closing I started to have doubts and panic.  This property required money I did not have, cost more than I thought I could afford, and would be a work in progress for many years.  My cousin put it in  simple terms, “either shit or get off of the pot (she did not use those words, but I knew what she meant).  I so appreciate her wisdom and advice at that time.  Without her, I would never had found the one place that everyday makes me hear children laughing.  Doris, you are the best  Realtor ever!!

A piece of this story I left out is that I was not only looking for a place for myself but also for my mother who because of  medical conditions could no longer live alone.  My mother loved growing things and had an organic garden and farm long before it was fashionable.   I wanted my mother to be able grow whatever she desired.  This banyan property was just under an acre and perfect for a large garden, but not large enough to qualify as agricultural which would allow chickens.  My mother really wanted chickens.  I was torn and argued with her.  In the end, I won and followed the law.  Everyday since she has died, I wish I had lost.  We had a banyan tree for god’s sake!  How could a couple of chickens harm the environment or neighborhood more than that?

I’ll tell you this, with the death of anyone close to your heart should come a lesson that makes you stronger and truer than before they departed.  Mom, I swear this to you, I will not let any law or ordinance keep me from having a chicken…I will never deny a chicken again (even if I don”t like them)!

Its a Jungle Out There

Some of you have said I must have a lot of land because of the number of Friday flowers that I’ve managed to capture and send week after week.  Actually, I have a little less than an acre and part of that is driveway and house.  So really, not much land at all, but what I do have is heavily vegetated.  I clump all kinds of plants together, most in the ground but some in pots next to their ground bound buddies.  What this leads to is a jungle atmosphere.  Mostly the plants figure out how to coexist and get what they need to thrive.  That is fine with me.

This Friday Flower was taken at the foot of my front door stairs.  I know this isn’t the kind of look that most people would be comfortable with and sometimes it even gets a little overwhelming for me too.  But during summer it is just too hot and humid for me to spend much time trying to control plant growth.  I just let them have at it.

This weekend however, the humidity is supposed to be low and the morning temperature in the 60′s.  I have a new battery operated chain saw and together we will be imposing my will on some of the garden plants.  Don’t worry, I will have my cell phone with me in case I cut the wrong thing. 

White caladium with red heart

I love this picture for so many reasons.  One, the Caladium leaves are delicate, almost pale lavender, and barely fed enough through the green veins.  But, just behind, unnoticed if you are at the wrong angle, there is a fire burning.  How so like us.  We all learn to cloak ourselves in “leaves” that are pure and appealing.  We wrap this persona around us like these caladium leaves.  We tell ourselves this persona is us, is strong, is invincible, but really it is just as fragile as these pale leaves.  What is more true about who we are is the vibrant fire that burns in the background.  When we discover that fire and allow it to shine through, we become what is truly unique and precious about us.

I had a devil of a time with this orchid.  I shot it  multiple times in different lights and different times of day, indoors and out.  No matter what I did, I could not capture what I felt about it.  It wasn’t that this orchid was rare or special…well it was special…on sale at a box store; it was that no matter what angle or light I used, this orchid still looked like it was on sale…cheap!  OK, compared to a lot of orchids it was cheap, and compared to a lot of orchids it looked great and lasted several months (another way to measure cheap…give more and last longer than the average).  Still, it deserved to be presented at its best, its core of exceptionality.

Then one day I gave up taking more photos of my shy beauty.  I just looked at it and looked at it and finally I could see it for what it was…I could see its essence.  I took one of the reasonalbly designed photos and stripped away everything that was not necessary to its definiton of orchid.  The above is the result.

I truly believe that everyone of us has a core essence that is for the most part difficult for others to recognize or capture, but if we are stripped down to nothing more than our essence, we will easily be recognized and more imprtantly, loved for who we really are.

I hope this weekend you are seen at your very essence AND that you see at least one other for who they really are.  Therein lies love.

The Mother

I

A young woman was tending her garden when she found a small piece of wood. She held the wood in her hand, turning it carefully. She could see something magical in the wood but could not tell what it was. The wood spoke silently to her saying, “I am before I am.”

Mother in Garden

The woman took the wood into her home and held it and looked at it and rocked it in her favorite chair. One day she began to see what it might be. With her sharpest knife she began to carefully and gently carve it. After many days and nights without sleep, the woman set the carving aside. She knew what it was and she knew the wood no longer needed her knife to shape it. The woman had made a boat with a mast to reach for the stars and a sail to catch the wind and a strong hull to withstand the storms. The woman was proud of her work. She cleared off the mantle over her fireplace and put the tiny boat where she could see it when she was in the room.

Years went by and the woman continued to tend her garden, eating the best produce herself and selling the rest in the village. Even though she kept the best for herself, her customers were quite happy with the produce she sold them; often remarking that she was the best gardener around. At the end of the day, she would sit in her rocking chair and admire her little boat. Although gardening was what she was known for, really good at, she always felt the boat was the best she had to give. It was her pride and joy. Gardening, that was her job, but this carving was her soul made concrete.

II

One day, it was a Saturday so there was no garden work, the woman’s sister stopped by for a visit. She brought her daughter with her, a five-year-old named Tonya.

Tonya

Tonya had never been to her aunt’s house. All the visiting had gone the other way with the woman carrying her best produce to family gatherings held at other relatives homes. For reasons none of us understands, the woman’s sister decided on the spur of the moment to make a visit and to take Tonya with her. The woman wasn’t used to entertaining and at first was flustered by what to do with these visitors. Her sister however was very comfortable with visiting and visitors and took charge, putting a kettle on for tea and asking for a tour of the garden. The woman gave the tour and the three of them returned to the house for tea. She was feeling quite proud and almost happy that her sister had come to visit and see her garden when Tonya spotted the boat on the mantel. Tonya said, “Oh auntie, auntie, let me play with the boat.”

Well, the woman was shocked! Play with the boat? Play? Tonya was jumping up and down by now, pointing to the boat and squealing, “Please auntie, please, please, please.”

Before she could censor herself and in the most severe voice she possessed the woman said, “That is not a toy. That is not for playing. You may not ever touch that boat.”

Tonya did not understand that at all. Even the woman’s sister did not understand it. Tonya began to cry, not so much from the woman’s words as from the tone of those words. The woman’s sister said, “Why is that tiny boat so precious?”

The woman had never really thought about that so her answer came unrehearsed and from the heart. “That boat is my soul. It is the best I have ever done. It is the best of me.”

Mother's house

“But sister, your garden is the best of you. Everyone says so.”

“No,” the woman replied, “This boat is as dear to me as Tonya is to you. It is my creation from my self.”

The sister had always known that the woman was a little different, but she was her sister and her love was borne of many years of knowing and accepting. If this was the woman’s creation, like a child, then so be it. She would honor it.

“I understand.” The sister turned to Tonya and said, “That little boat is not a toy. It is art, a creation of auntie’s that is not to be played with. Do you understand?”

Tonya was five and her life was still pretty concrete and literal. She shook her head yes, she understood, but she said, “Auntie, can I watch you sail the boat?”

The woman responded, “I don’t sail it. It has never sailed.”

And Tonya, the literal, replied, “Then it isn’t really a boat because it has never done what boats do.”

The sister could see the woman’s face grow pale and she knew from years of knowing her sister that the paleness was a sign of a serious wound. She didn’t understand the wound and she was used to Tonya just saying it like it is so it didn’t bother her at all, but the woman was hurt and she didn’t want the hurt to be more than it already was. So she said to Tonya, “The boat is art. It doesn’t do anything but it is still a boat.”

Tonya, feeling more comfortable because of her mother’s comforting words, the tone, not the words, said, “Then what good is it?”

The sister could see this was getting nowhere and decided the best course was to retreat. She thanked the woman for a lovely visit, for the tour of the gardens, for the tea, for everything except the boat. The boat she did not mention. She gathered up their wraps, her purse, and Tonya and said, “Let’s do this again, soon.” But she thought, “not bloody likely.” Off she went leaving the woman speechless.

III

The woman was lost in a flood of thoughts and realizations and hardly noticed their departure. She looked at the boat and spoke aloud, “I never meant for you to be art. I heard you speak before you were made, telling me how to make you. I made you and I have kept you right there, trapped since that day when I put down my whittlers knife and said it is done. You are not art. You are my child. It doesn’t matter that you are a boat. You are my child. It is wrong for me to not let you be a boat!”

Letting go

With a heavy heart but a certain and proud soul, the woman took the little boat from the mantle and headed for the village, which was next to an ocean. She looked out on the harbor and thought, “The water is much too deep here.” She walked away from the harbor full of piers and other boats and headed towards a sandy, isolated beach. But when she got there, she shook her head “no” because the waves were too rough. So she walked further until she found a small inlet with trees and water plants. “This” she thought, “will be safer.”

She knelt beside the brackish water and placed the boat at the edge of the water. The boat did not move. So the woman leaned over until her face touched the ground and with all of the strength she had, she blew upon the tiny sail. Soon the boat moved slowly away from the shore. The woman continued to blow until she was gasping for breath. Finally, the boat was far enough from the shore to catch its own breeze. It moved faster and faster away from the woman, down the inlet and towards the ocean. Long after the woman could no longer see her boat, she stood by the shore, sad and joyful tears falling silently.

IV

Many more years passed. The woman began to wither and with her, so too her garden. A great war was upon the world and the woman was often hungry and afraid. She couldn’t always get the seeds she needed for her garden, water was scarce, and fertilizer did not exist. All of the things she needed for her remarkable garden were scarce or gone. But the truth is, from the day she let the little boat go, the woman was ruled by a sadness that neither seed, nor water, nor fertilizer could overcome. Even without a war and scarcity, her garden would have withered along with her soul.

One day the woman went to the shore where she had let her tiny boat go. The shore was now a giant shipping pier. The woman watched the tugs bring the huge ships in and take them back to sea. While watching this busy enterprise, the woman heard someone calling, “Mother, mother it is me.” She looked up and saw a huge cruise ship.

Little Boat All Grown Up

The woman could not see over the bow or around the bulging sides to the stern. Again she heard, “Mother, it is me” and it seemed to be coming from the ship. She stared in disbelief, thinking someone was tricking her but again the voice said, “Mother it is me, your little boat all grown up.”

The woman gasped. How could it be? She must be mad. But she knew she wasn’t and she knew it was her little boat. She spoke silently with the boat as it spoke with her. “But how did you get so big, she asked?”

“I’ve sailed many places and the more I saw and learned, the more I grew. I am everything you made of me and so much more.”

The woman knew that what the ship said was true and suddenly she felt very small and afraid. In her small fear she could not see the ship for what it was but only for what it was not. She could not feel it was hers anymore and speaking from her small lost place she said, “Why are you a cruise ship? Don’t you know there is a war? Where are your guns? We need a war ship?”

first the ship felt ashamed, then angry. She waited quietly while these painful feelings passed and the said, “I am that I am. I am no good for fighting. I tried that and was seduced by the big guns, the pride, the importance of my work. But in my heart I knew I was no warship. So I followed my heart and became a cruise ship. Now when people need to dream, or relax, or venture to the unknown places, they come to me. When old lovers need to be alone again, they come to me. It is the best that I am.

The woman heard this but she missed the little boat, had missed it for years, so she said, “I gave you life. I set you free. I have lived dreaming of you. The least you could do is grow up into someone who could protect me. I have no need of dreams or foolish lover’s. I am hungry and afraid. Who has time for dreams?”

“But mother, I was your dream. You saw a boat in me and with your sharpest knife, made me. Can’t you see yourself in the same way and with the same faith and patience, carve yourself.

You gave me sails to catch the wind

You gave me a mast always pointing to the stars. Raise your arms and eyes and find your own stars. You gave me sails to catch the wind, to move away from the shore. Breathe that same freedom into yourself, and you will go where you need to go. You made my hull strong so I could withstand the worst of the storms. Find that strength in yourself so you can withstand your own journey. You did not make me to be you. You must be you.”

The woman heard these words but they stung. She turned her back on her boat and said, “You have deserted me in my time of greatest need. I will die and you will be entertaining lovers.”

These words were most difficult for the ship to hear and she was tempted to give up her life and beg her mother for love and understanding. Again, she waited for the pain of her mother’s disappointment and despair to pass. When she found her voice and courage again she replied, “Mother, be sure, when the day really comes that you cannot carry yourself, I will be here to carry you away from danger. But to do so before you need it dishonors us both. I have as much faith in your abilities as you had in mine. Find your own way and then find me.” With those words said, the ship prayed they were not wrong and arrogant, she prayed her mother would not drop dead before her on the pier. “Please mother,” she begged, “find your own way…and find me.”

The mother was shaken but the busy pier rested for no one. Before she could respond to her daughter, the tugboats blasted their signals to let loose the lines that held the cruise ship fast. The mother watched as the ship swung around and headed out to sea. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard the cruise ship say just before it was out of range, “Mother, come find me.”

V

There is a tale that is told of a cruise ship on the blue ocean that is accompanied by a flying dragon. They appear to be friends and appear to be talking. But that’s just a tale, another tale at that, and we don’t believe in tales…do we?

Dedicated to my mother, Miss Victory, 1943