Readers of this blog may remember the account of our late-planted marigolds. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the story, I won’t bore you with the details but give a brief summary.
Late in July, our flowerless front yard–in this state because various (happy) events precluded taking the time for gardening endeavors–prompted me to take action. So, armed with spade, marigold seeds saved from a previous year’s blooms, and watering can, my visiting three-year-old grandson and I began a little garden. Before the little fellow returned home, he was rewarded with the appearance of tiny plants.
These baby marigolds literally weathered a number of storms, including the infamous Hurricane Irene. After each one, I was certain that something so dainty it could not stand up to overzealous watering could not survive a lengthy downpour, but survive they did. Even a persistent dandelion that took up residence in their midst was overshadowed by the no-nonsense marigolds.
As the days turned into weeks, the leafy red-stemmed plants grew into a veritable forest. My husband and I watched for the first sign of what we had been anticipating since early August: buds that would mean flowers. After we began to wonder if these marigolds would ever bloom, lo and behold–a lone bud appeared. Within two weeks, the plants were dotted with the future blossoms.
Except for one. We were unaware of the budless state of this particular individual until it was unintentionally damaged by an enthusiastic grass-cutter. When it became apparent that the plant would not survive, I decided to encourage it to grow new roots and possibly begin a new life as a house plant. (The calendar did not offer any hope that it could be replanted outside much before wintry weather set in.) This marigold proved that it has not lost any of the stamina of its younger self: it has not only perked up, but has grown–and produced a bud! Tiny roots are beginning to become visible, offering us hope that all our efforts have not been in vain. And the marigold itself seems to like its new environment: when I took it out on the back porch one morning, it responded by drooping and looking quite forlorn. Once I returned our new resident indoors, it thanked me my unfurling its leaves and standing tall once again.
Our first marigold
If a plant, which has no freedom of choice or will power, can make a move from one location to another, very different, one, and thrive, we human beings are surely capable of doing the same. We can choose to flourish wherever we dwell. If home is where the heart is, then home is where our heart tells us is a good place to be.
For fellow bibliophiles: I shall return to talking about our favorite topic, namely, books, in future posts. In the meantime, check out my site: http://bookandagarden.com for reviews of great books to read and share with the young people in your life.