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.