Plants haven’t always been a source of joy for me, but this is increasingly the case. My joke has always been that I only do well with plants that “thrive on neglect.” In this phase of my life when my old excuses about being busy raising kids no longer hold water, I aim to be more intentional in nurturing and caring for my plants.
Last summer, on the final day of our 10-week summer market marathon at The Shamrock, I had a strong and undeniable pull to stop at our family cemetery before starting my 2 hour trek west to my house. It wasn’t normal. The inner call was loud and persistent. I passed the turn, too tired and too hot to add a stop, but that very loud insistence caused me to turn around and go directly to the cemetery.
This cemetery, named Sahara, is the burial site for my oldest son and both parents. Other beloved cousins are there, too. I don’t avoid going, per se, but when I go, it is sacred. This was the first time I was so persistently called there. So I gave this visit my undivided attention.
After spending time at each burial location, offering my undying love for the souls whose lives are marked in remembrance there, I looked across to where my paternal family’s grapevine once thrived. I had been told it was no longer there but as I walked closer I saw it had grapes – and lots of them! Giddy with excitement evoked by childhood memories of that vine in its prime, I started to gorge myself (as one does) on the scuppernong delicacy it had once again produced. While enjoying them, my mission revealed itself. “Don’t throw the seeds down. Take them. All of them.”
And that is precisely what I did. I wrapped all the seeds carefully in a paper napkin and returned to my car to head west. (After realizing several ticks had also tried to hitch a ride and frantically removing them from my legs and clothing.)
It took a while for me to do anything with the seeds after bringing them home. But, when the right situation presented itself, things came together quickly. My oldest grandson, whose dad is buried at Sahara, was very interested in growing particular plants at that time. He was incredibly meticulous and researched his favored ones. I told him about the seeds and invited him to help me plant them all in some soil. So, with great care and intention, we planted all the seeds.
And those pots sat on my porch for months. I watered the dirt occasionally but didn’t see any signs of life. Until about a week ago.
And suddenly, there they were! All of my nurturing instincts are now engaged and I have a tremendous sense of responsibility for these wee grapevines! I feel a sense of calling to bring them into their fruition.
And I’m grateful (grapeful?) they chose me as their partner.
Finding a new "normal" 