Invisible Sense

     Dogs love trash cans. If you've ever walked a dog, you know they are going to investigate all nearby trash cans for odors as well as visitors.They easily recognize the belongings of loved ones and familiar places. They are uniquely qualified with two amazing senses: Smell and Heart.
     Dogs interpret the world through smell. The human nose contains tiny structures called turbinates that capture scent. This area is approximately the size of a postage stamp. A dog's scent structure is the size of a piece of typing paper! Dogs also have a unique scent chamber called Jacobson's Organ. This unusual cavity allows dogs to process large molecule scents that seem odorless. Dog's are equal opportunity smellers; they love aromas foul and fair. They will sniff flowers and dead armadillos with equal relish.
     The heart of a dog is defined by loyalty. On the surface, a dog heart is a four-chambered organ similar to the human one. Yet the dog heart is endlessly forgiving. You are late? Still glad to see you. You scared them by laughing loudly? All is forgiven. A dog trusts the unseen implicitly. This got me thinking, what if we trusted the unseen even a little bit more?
     I doubt that I will become a super smeller, and there are smells that I am happy to miss.That leaves the heart. The ancient Greeks believed that the heart was the center of everything. Logical, since the pulse reacts to events and emotions around us.What if we relied on the invisible sense of things and trusted our intuition like canines do? What if we moved not from the ego, but from the heart? Love is the strongest power and yet it is invisible until we act. I want to learn to trust my heart. I  want to become the person my dog thinks I am.

Learning To Float

     Texas is a country unto itself; it was a republic from 1836 to 1846. Texas is larger than life in many ways. It's geography is sprawling, its culture is unique and its wildflowers are dazzling. Spring in Texas is about the unfurling of blankets of wildflowers. Ordinary meadows, gas station corners, and abandoned lots gleam with stalks of lapis stars, flaming spikes and pink orbs.

Texas bluebonnets

   

Indian paintbrush

Mountain primrose

     I planted wildflowers this year. You never know what will come up. They are wild, and they are finicky, and they come up as they choose. They don't have the predictability of a planned garden, but they bring a burst of color and texture. I had one fuchsia wildflower that lasted only a short time. Like a sunset on a stem, it was brief but memorable. If gardening has taught me anything, it has taught me to become more comfortable with surprises.
     People often think the  unknown means something bad. What if it means something better than you can imagine? The unknown can mean possibility and growth.  I tried a water aerobics class this week. It was fun to jump and play in the water. It made me remember the fun of being a kid. I felt silly, weightless and happy.  I used to pretend that I was a mermaid or a deep sea diver.

What qualities did I admire in these pursuits? I appreciate the unique beauty and independence of mermaids. I respect the curiosity and skill of divers. I want to cultivate these traits in myself.

     Back in the pool, we did some kicks with the pool noodles. The instructor said, "Don't be afraid to move, you are in a  pool, you will move and you will float." It's time for me to make peace with uncertainty. It's never too late to float.

Room To Grow

     The foliage is a swirl of yellow green, white and emerald. Like leaves of  fancy Italian paper, they  cascade over the edge of the pot on lithe arms. Until I stopped paying attention.
     While I was busy doing other garden things, my ivy out grew its original pot. The leaves began to wither and brown around the edges. The plant began to shed. I changed my watering schedule. I moved the pot. No changes. I googled the symptoms. Answer? Your plant has run out of room!
     I chose a new pot, trimmed the dead leaves, loosened the roots, and carefully transplanted my friend. I fertilized it and placed it in a new area of the garden. There was an palpable sigh of relief as the ivy put out out spring green leaves and the white edges slowly returned.

     Now, several months later, the new leaves have formed a canopy that shields a toad from the hot Texas sun. He spends every morning under the leafy umbrella and ignores me as I tend the plants. I am delighted that the ivy has beauty and function; none of these changes would have transpired without room to grow.

     My son left home for the first part of Army officer training. He will be challenged physically, mentally and emotionally. It's his time to root down and expand. His time. His choices. As we dropped him at the airport, I could sense his hesitation, but there was more. If you are 22 years old, your parents' ways start to feel limited.  Now, there is the possibility of space. As any experienced gardener knows, you need room to grow.

Growing Roots

     My favorite ivy is a Glacier Ivy. It is a hardy, drought tolerant plant with cascading arms of  airy green and white variegated leaves.  This plant is a splendid choice for hanging baskets and decorative, spilling containers. Why not root more of my favorite ivy?

    So with my head swimming in dreams of an ivy laced porch, I began my work. I cut the ivy back and chose some choice pieces to root. I trimmed off some leaves and placed the cuttings in a mason jar with water. My research says roots should appear in 3-4 weeks. At that time, I will transplant them to a stone container that looks like a face;the ivy will be lush locks for my garden guardian.

  

   Rooting is not a difficult process, the cuts should be made with a clean, sharp tool, the leaves should be trimmed so they don't dip in the water and the water should be clean. The  same is true if we want to root ourselves in Spirit. The tools we choose for spiritual growth should be free of ego debris and agenda. Spiritual growth comes from meditation, prayer and willingness to change.  Different plants need different environments to flourish. People are the same. Some may grow in a crowded place, others need more space. My cuttings are developing roots long before my eye can see the change. People are the same.

     My favorite yoga studio does not have mirrors. There is no external way to check alignment or compare yourself to others. As you practice, you can gaze out at God's collage of reaching trees and sheltering sky or you can look inward at your own heart where the same Spirit rests and roots begin. Real movement starts on the inside and works out.
      Rooting reminds me that unseen forces are always present. Love is always present. Amelia Earhart said, "A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions and the roots spring up and make new trees." The question is not "Will we root ourselves?" The question is how.

Waiting for Tulips

   It was Easter 1966.  I had a pink hat, a pink coat and two serious barrettes securing my wavy coif.  My cousin was resplendent in a navy assemble and matching cap. Our parents took our photo at the center of my grandparents' yard: The statue of the Blessed Mother. Mary was sheltered by a grotto of ivy and surrounded by a bevy of yellow tulips and decorative stones.
     My grandfather was a talented gardener. The lush green lawn was lined with beds of bicolor yellow and pink roses. There were pear trees, purple pansies and puffy blue hydrangeas. The house sat on a double lot in Yonkers, NY. The well tended yard was an urban oasis.

     Though a novice gardener, I have always loved flowers and color. This year I decided to plant my own tulips; they are about to burst. In Japan buds are often included in an arrangement or present so that the recipient can have the pleasure of watching the flower bloom. I am giddy over the buds! I can't remember what colors I planted, so everything about them will be a surprise.
     I enjoy the symbolism of the bud too. It represents rebirth. The potential of growth and the energy of the sun are there all along just waiting for the right conditions. Maybe our lives are like this too. God knows the plans he has for us. He knows the gifts we've been given. Maybe my part is to trust the process and bloom where I am planted? Wherever this finds you, take time to enjoy the spring and take back some childhood wonder.
     

Salad Days

     Tiny green sprouts appeared almost immediately. I was thrilled! How hard could gardening be? Yet over the weeks to follow the tender stalks browned, withered and died. New to the world of gardening, I started researching. Apparently the water in Texas can be hard on hydroponic gardens. I replaced my tap water with distilled and so far I am back in business. My petite lettuce is coming along nicely as I write. Gardening is both a simple and complex pursuit. Simple in its goal, but it can be complex in execution. Here's are three cold spring lessons: water, location and patience.

     To the novice, watering appears to be the cornerstone of gardening. Yet in the same way that people can over eat or under eat, plants need a balanced water intake. My succulents are relieved that I have begun admiring them rather than over watering. The same can be said of the ivys on the porch; they simply don't require the same water as my sun loving friends.
     Location is not just for real estate. If you put sunny friends in the shade they will not flourish. Shady plants will collapse under the direct gaze of the sun. It doesn't matter how great I think the plants look in a certain location. Location has to be tailored to needs. When the temperature drops into the the 30s F my friends need to come indoors. My kitchen has become a nighttime greenhouse.

     Patience and selection are  crucial lessons for the green gardener. My daydreams overflow with flowering baskets, blossoming fruit trees, vinca, petunias and perfumed roses, dianthus, ranúnculos and herbs. Choosing the right plant for the right season is a key to gardening success. Nurseries are currently stocked with transitional favorites.

But it's not their time. Instead I have been choosing hardier candidates: violas, pansies,

     Lessons from the garden easily transfer to life outside the garden. If I garden with metaphors, Maybe I can live with more grace. The right amount of water is a metaphor for balance. Location is a good fit for the question, "Where do I best fit?" Patience and selection in the garden parallel the choices I make each day. Do I take time for discernment when making a decision? Do I choose companions that encourage the best version of myself? I often rush into things without doing  research or reflection. Gardening with metaphors can infuse my ordinary life with extraordinary grace, if I simply allow the space in my spirit.
     In Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, Cleopatra spoke of her youthful, immature decisions as her salad days. I used to think growing lettuce was a simple task. It is simple with the right environment, nutrients and light. Growing the soul is like growing lettuce. The right tools support the highest growth. The Talmud says, "Each blade of grass has an angel that stands over it whispering, grow, grow." If angels guard blades of grass, gardeners are equally precious.

Sunday Snaps

    Some Sunday flower photos. Have a peaceful, restorative day.