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I love hydrangeas. Their pastel puffy blooms are cheerful and soft looking. We had several bushes in our garden back in London several years ago. So this past Valentines my dear beloved brought home a lovely potted hydrangea. Now let me just preface this all by saying that he's the sort that must do something creative,frugal and/ or out of the ordinary--unique, not merely follow the mores of tradition on any given holiday (which as you can imagine, with such expectations and combined with a shortage on time can lead to some rather disappointing days! I earnestly reassured him that sometimes traditional would suit in a pinch and just knowing I was thought of is lovely.) The idea was that the potted hydrangea while signifying our past together would also be able to be planted here and grow and thrive...on the windswept prairies of Ohio, unlike the dozen roses which he also brought home, though they would die in a week. It was obvious which gift he was most excited about. Hmmm. The moment after my "ooh's" and my smiling "Ah!" I instantly began to feel sorry for the poor thing. I couldn't help but feel that upon its exiting the safe-haven of the florist's shop, it was doomed. We are green thumb wanna-be's but because of navy life, I rarely invest in houseplants because, well, you just have to give them away in a year after struggling to keep them alive. So here we go with this lovely plant which that day had two enormous round sky blue blossoms heralding the spring and two green buds promising to open soon. I placed it in our bright entry hall on the shaker table. Then walking by it one day, all buds were slumped over. Aaaa, emergency! Plant 911 was alerted and we were hurriedly trying to give it water and bring it back to health. Later that evening the blooms were feebly holding their heads up again, looking at us reproachfully. Since then it's been a rather sorry downhill slide. No blooms exist today...the two greens never made it to their sky blue glory, and the edges of the leaves are cracked, though we've given it loads of water. Everybody's been so sorry it wilted on that one day I'm sure everyone in the family has watered it every day since! We've probably drowned the poor thing. It's been transplanted, and moved to a more noticeable area. Oh well! My husband and I both shook our heads tonight thinking on this poor plant's future of being planted out in the landscape somewhere. These things thrive in lush, rainy England, but the scorching dry summers of the midwest will not treat it well. J observed insightfully, "Well, at least kids are more resilient!!"
Isn't that the truth? Man, one wrong turn with this plant and we're toast. Or are we? Maybe it's that instant gratification mentality that prompts us to hasty conclusions and we'll be able to slowly watch new life overcome the mistake we made. So many times I've thought of parallels between gardening and parenting...as we grow things (including our children) we become more observant, more aware as we spend more time with our plants. We give thought to their conditions. Are we having too heavy a hand? Too light? More pruning? Less pruning? One thing for sure...neglect (though well-meaning!) will be the undoing of all great intentions. I'm so thankful that God's grace covers our mistakes with our children. We water them with our hugs, smiles, "soakie" time in Mom and Dad's big bed. We pour the sunshine of God's word into their hearts and minds daily. We prune them with our discipline and training, correcting an attitude that has strayed. We fertilize them with family dinners around the table sitting together and shouting "hip-hooray's" for the cooks. How glad my heart is to be the gardener of their souls for this little era of life.
In the meantime, if somebody knows the houseplant equivalent of a zuchinni plant (gentle on gardener's egos) do tell! |
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