It’s the time of year when I play in the dirt and marvel at the new life growing under the huddles masses of Otter Pop wrappers, solicitor fliers and dead leaves that crawled under my shrubs to wait out the winter and never came out. I don’t know who in my neighborhood grows the Otter Pop tree but I would like to speak to him about keeping its droppings out of my yard.
I discovered a miracle under my Lamb’s Ear this week and its discovery brought much needed balm to my aching heart. A rejected project from last year’s spring, a forgotten lupine hid beneath the dead and faded leaves of the Lamb’s Ear. It couldn’t even be seen from the porch or walkway as the fuzzy covering had completely blanketed the container and dead plant.
I continued cleaning up the Lamb’s Ear. The leaves fuzz makes my arms itch and so once I begin the task I like to completely finish it — no reason to spread my misery over several days when my rash can explode all at once and then be over with. I love the ground covering for its gentle greenness and soft leaves. It makes for a pretty allergen.
I trimmed and cleaned around my dead discovery silently, listening to my wind chimes. It was a peaceful moment and I thought about how I failed my lupine. I’ve never done this before — forgotten to plant a new addition to my spot — and the guilt overwhelmed me. I could feel my tears stinging and my foolishness burning my cheeks. I scolded myself, “It’s only a plant, for crying out loud,” but it didn’t stop the emotion. I failed something that relied on me. Yet again.
I’ve been feeling that way a lot lately. Along with “I can’t. I don’t. I didn’t. I messed up. I should have. I would have.” I know every rock used in the lottery because I throw them all at myself.
I picked up my little lupine and held it close while I deadheaded all its sadness. I whispered my sorrys and tsked at how light it was in its container. All the misery in world can be felt in the hollowness of one dead plant. I set it to the side and hopelessly hopefully watered it anyway. The Lamb’s Ear protected the little lupine for a year by giving it shelter, holding it close to its roots and hiding it from the world. I wanted it to experience a little sun.
For those who don’t believe in miracles I can testify it happened. My little lupine came back to life. Where once there was death and spindles now there are green leaves and the buds of purple lupines. What is more (and a bit of a pickle) I can not move its container as my little lupine’s roots have grown through it and into the ground.
Its roots have grown through its container and into the ground.
Hope has filled my heart even if it still aches. I helped my little lupine find the sun once more but it grew its own roots. It found its own strength to fight what held it and grounded itself.
Even now it is reaching up into the sun. My little lupine reaches into the sun, its roots stretches into the ground, and it blooms.