a promising future


It was only yesterday that I was struck by the way my dealings with bulbs closely mimic a similar pattern in life.  Yes, head down in the dirt is the time to do some good thinking.

Wherever they are sold, those alluring photographs of flowers tug, whether from White Flower Farm (oh I do love that February catalog) or Stop & Shop. A promising future available and boxed up for easy take-away for $3.99 or $12.99. Who wouldn’t get sucked in?

This fall it was at Costco.  There was that softness, that promise of gentle, fertile life, smiling at me in the otherwise hard confines of a store dedicated to excess.

The tulips were actually a bit sparse this past spring, weren’t they?  And aren’t the squirrels eating up all the daffs? I’m a firm believer that there can never be too many grape hyacinths dancing under the river birches after the snow drops’ ebullient pas-de-deux slow down.

Onto the ledge near our exterior door my purchases are gently put, as a reminder of what is to come. My reaction when seeing them sitting there at the end of August is excitement, in September, ignoring them, I move onto procrastination in early October, then guilt, crescendoing in an emergency planting session only initiated to beat an anticipated first frost.  Same thing every year.

The earth gives way easily, bare spots in the garden yell for attention, telling me where to plant.  A favorite sharp trowel and shovel that fits me perfectly, delicious smell of dirt and leaf decay.  Fifteen minutes.  This enchanting investment in the future is optimism alive, illustrating the ease with which beauty can prevail and life continues.



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