The best way to describe myself right now is completely overwhelmed. I have so many things I must do, many things that I need to do, and somethings that I just want to do. It's all swirling around in my head into one great anxiety, and I am finding that what I really have to do right now is to slow down, find joy in simple things, and practice doing that oh so difficult thing for me, letting go........
This 3 acre property haunts me sometimes. In a good way. The people who lived here before us both passed away just two years ago, and only 5 weeks apart from one another. They were very admired by the whole neighborhood, and left a wonderful energy here that is palpable. The lady of the house was a master gardener, and her touch is everywhere here. I feel like she would roll around in her grave if she saw how overgrown everything is, or the way my boys have roughed their way through her beautiful gardens. But despite that, I find myself connecting to her as I walk through the gardens. I wonder, 'What is this plant? Why is it here? Will it bloom?' I feel like there is usually a purpose to how things were done, and I am just discovering it.
At least the overgrown state of things has prevented some marvelous plants from being accidentally weeded or hit with the string trimmer. Peonies are springing up in unexpected places, waiting to bloom. Roses, in need of a little care are revealing themselves. Clematis, in a bold and exotic pink is flourishing. Dutch Iris, and Iris that last year didn't bloom at all last year is blooming now - one a dark deep burgundy. Wisteria flowers are hanging from the deck trellis, and even little forget-me-nots are taking root everywhere.
It feels a little bit like some of my favorite novels, full of old secret gardens, or overgrown gardens, full of mystery and magic, or of untold stories, and they are revealing some of their secrets to me, slowly, and surely, as I walk around and discover things coming up from the ground.
There is delight in finally figuring out what a certain plant is! Last year we were surprised by the wild plum growing into the hillside. We couldn't for the life of us figure out what that tree was. The fruits were small, but not so small as cherries, and too fleshy for canning or even cooking, I think, but eaten out-of-hand are delightfully sweet and juicy. My Dad called it a Potawatame Plum. I think that's the old-timey name for it. And thanks to my Mom I can now identify the gooseberries.
Right now I am in this difficult stage of transition. It feels like I am living in a symbolic waiting room of sorts. I know the time is not long before I will undergo a big transformation into a newly reborn mother. I know that there will be joy ahead for our family in the hope of a new soul coming forth. But now, of course, there are anxieties and discomforts of pregnancy weighing on me - not to mention the interupted sleep, that make it feel like this stage of transition, the waiting game, is taking far too long. It always seems that way!
Today though, I found out that the honeysuckle is blooming. I had never experienced that smell before moving to this place last year. I don't know if had ever smelled anything quite so wonderful before in my life.The scent is like Gardenia and Jasmine with a hint of clover.
Funny how things bloom. One day they seem to barely be growing, almost dead, and the next day you walk by and buds are popping open all over the place. I picked some small branches, and put them in a bud vase next to my bed. While I fret about still being pregnant, I hope that glorious, exotic, fragrance will permeate my room and remind me that all things bloom at precisely the time they are supposed to. I just have to have faith in timing that is not always my own.