Planting Bulbs

Give me a field of wildflowers any day. 

Look! I even have the sweatshirt to prove it!

The way wildflowers seemingly grow without a care regardless of the rockiest, dryest terrain never ceases to inspire me. There they are in unreplicable hues of whites, purples, yellows and reds blending with other species together thwarting rich soil, fertilization and daily watering. Bright, happy, dancing with the wind, hosting bees and innumerable insects and birds. A whole mountainside a-buzz with noise and activity and color! What a glorious sight!

Fall Where They May

I always thought if I ever planted a garden, it would be a haphazard scattering of seeds boasting all sorts of wild and native plants. Uncultivated. No real rhyme or reason - just dang WILD!  

Upon reflection, I see other aspects of my life mimicking this “wildflower sentiment”. Predictably, I choose bursts of color over neutral tones. Give me something happy and alive! Company coming? Just toss that cozy blanket on the couch and have it look lived in, used and enjoyed rather than pressed, rolled and steamed.

A Bed of Flowers

But then again, I cannot dismiss the presence of a huge, powerful force inside me that causes me to gape whenever I pass manicured lawns with their bright daffodils, tulips, hyacinth and crocus bursting in glorious color marching neatly row upon row all held back and maintained behind freshly painted picket fences and crisp lawn edges. My eyes sip and sip and then take a long draught attempting to absorb the picturesque scene, deeply appreciating the meticulous beauty.

The art of placement and the surety of return year after year is incredibly appealing. Maybe it is because something this organized and fixed is so far removed from anything I believe I can produce that lies at the basis of my unwavering gaze?

Not for You

Inevitably after soaking in such persnickety views of floral, I mull over other things that have similar effects on my soul. Reflection brings me to the calm that descends on and through me while seeing something so fastidiously in order and to the peace that washes over me when walking into a neat and tidy home flush with beiges, creams and whites. A space so serene and peaceful I feel a longing to be embraced by it all - literally wrapped in its softness and quiet. 

But something niggling crests on the wave of peace and whispers, “This is not for you.”

I have to surmise it must not be a plausible outcome for a Leo, an adventurer, a wandering soul and so, I move on and praise the hearty wildflowers for their tenacity and life.   

Last month I made a stop at a hardware store. The goal was to purchase a few camping supplies but there I stood transfixed in front of display boxes filled with expectant, promising flower bulbs. Something was moving deep inside me. I didn't budge. I just kept looking and looking. Deep pinks and light pinks, varying purples, cultivated blues, and an array of yellows. 

What am I doing? What is going on? I pick up bag after bag, reading directions for planting and care, information about where the bulbs come from, their growing season, etc….It brings to mind all those homes so lucky to have picture perfect spring flowers blooming. Their very own reminder that Earth will turn yet another year. Thinking of those people who know their bulbs have been silently sleeping all winter long without worrying whether they will arrive on time once again to bless the occupants of the house with color and beauty, awakes a longing within me that has lain dormant far too long.

My hands are full of bulbs. 

I want them. 

But...

“They are not for you.”         

I place the crinkly bags back in their boxes.

I return to my list and walk down aisles. My cart remains empty for I cannot decipher the words written on my list. What if someone comes and buys ALL the bulbs as I blindly wander? What if this is my one chance to cause a shift in my trajectory? My mind wanders and is filled with all sorts of troubling queries.

More Than Just a Bulb

I must have taken a wrong turn because I find myself once again standing before boxes of bulbs. Everything else is hushed around me as I allow myself a few moments to try and understand the depth of meaning these elusive bulbs have for me.  

Planting bulbs means you expect to be present to see their arrival come Spring. 

Planting bulbs means this is home. You are adding beauty to this space. 

Planting bulbs shows hope, rest, stability. 

Pale pinks, blues, and a surprise mix get rung up and toted home. 

Today I broke through the sod with a spade. I drip with sweat as I turn the earth and try to dig deep enough to place tulips, allium and crocus in the damp coolness. 

Is this the top of the bulb? 

Is this the bottom? 

Is this deep enough? 

Is the soil good enough? 

I mark their presence with rocks given up by the mountains I have lugged down over time to be used for such a purpose as this.