April 11, 2021
The twins and I have been going on “blooming hunts” every afternoon for about two weeks now.
We walk our backyard and go from tree to tree and look for blooms and new growth, for signs that the tree or the struggling plant is coming back to life, for signs of hope and renewal.
It’s very, very exciting, I tell you (seriously, it is, I’m not being sarcastic!).
When we first started our blooming hunts, the hope was pretty scarce (well for me, at least… one of the best things about two year olds is that they ONLY always have hope. It’s beautiful).
My favorite tree had nothin, the one next to it had a tiiiiiiiny little bit of green, the crepe myrtles really had nothin.
But then, on our hunt two days later, my favorite tree had a bit more, the one next to it had more too, the “purple tree” (as the twins call it) was wildly purple with vivid new blooms. And did we even see some new tiny red leafs on the crepes? Yes, yes, we did.
The next day the rose bushes were full, signs of impending growth and bloom to come, surely.
Things were going pretty slowly it seemed. But they WERE going (and growing).
And then we went out of town for one night last weekend.
And we came back to a tree in (almost) full bloom, the crepes at the back of the yard were definitely back in action, the favorite climbing tree even had new buds where we swore two days before there was nothing.
Our afternoon blooming hunts are fun. They’re enjoyable and it’s so fun to get to witness the growth and renewal so closely.
But. It’s also a bit like hovering. I imagine all of the trees in our yard are looking at us thinking, “Good grief, people! If you three would quiet down, stop climbing all over me, stop inspecting me so closely I would be able to exist in peace, do my natural damn thing and BLOOM like wild. On with your bad selves now. Go get a snack. I’ll bloom when ready. And I’m almost ready. Go, now.”
And that’s a lot like our own growth, isn’t it?
We’re always yelling at ourselves. Nitpicking our talents, our worth, our capabilities, our effort, our results. Climbing over ourselves. Too anxiously eager for the next, more vivid, bigger bloom to notice and be in awe of the blooming already taking place one inch to the left.
What if we just tended our growth, fed ourselves properly to ensure a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful renewal each season, and carried on?
What if we didn’t hover over our work, our innate abilities to bloom when the season calls for it, our innate desire to naturally pull back when the season calls for it? What if we didn’t nitpick like the winter-hating impatient homeowner waiting for her backyard to turn into a summer oasis and instead we lived with the trust that the oasis always appears again. Perhaps a bit later this year than the years before, but it’s on its way.
I find my most valuable lessons in nature. I always have. And this one felt like a big one to me this past week.
I hope this struck you today too, whether there’s full blooms around you or nothing but dead and dry limbs. The blooming is almost always coming.
Until next time,