GOD'S FAVORITE SEASON

Another new season has begun. Time to put away that which is light and airy, to be replaced with the somewhat deeper hues of beiges, browns and orange. Bright yellow makes way for softer mustard, voluminous red parts for calmer tawny greens and navy blues.

The colors of Autumn.

God's favorite season, it is a time when the brillance that lies within all of us is called forth. Bursting in the shower of colors we possess, the aromas and flavors associated with such rainfall is as welcome as a comfy quilt on a cool fall evening. A parade of new growth before the first frost, it is a final reach for the heavenly presence felt when looking at the clouds and enjoying the essence of nothing.

The lake is translucent, the shimmering of diamonds on top the water. Rocks glisten in the path of the rays of the sun, calling us to listen one more time to the waves as they crash against the shore.

As the tide goes out and in and out again, it reminds me that time does not stand still, and does not wait for any being's command or plea to stop or slow it's pace. The trees are bulging with fruit, begging to be harvested and relieved of the burden one more season.

Time does not stop for heartbreak or disappointment, nor does it look the other way when one falls or is injured.

Perhaps the balm to deal with such feelings is the changing of the seasons; for it reaffirms the continuity of life, the discipline of sameness, and the gift of renewal.

Autumn has got to be God's favorite season. It reminds us that we are mortal, and our legacy is what we allow it to be.

BLOOMING SURPRISE

When we shopped for our annual batch of spring blossoms for our yard this year, we also received a mystery plant. Tucked in beside the begonias and the hydrangeas were a bunch of greenery that no one knew the name of.

“Plant it” they said simply, “ and find out what it is.”

So we did. My mind began to race with the multiple analogies I could create out this experience.

Not judging a book by its cover.

A rose among the thorns.

Beauty and the beast.

As our rainy spring turned into the equally rainy summer, we watched and waited.

The combination of one day sunny followed by two days of rain became the norm for the week, and when there was a break in the mist we trimmed and pulled and shaped our beautiful flowers, now lush and full because of summer’s heat.

We still didn’t know what our mystery flower was, until we began to see the tell tale yellow blossoms and giant green elephant leaves.

“Ah yes” a neighbor decided, chin cuffed between two fingers.

”It’s a zucchini plant.”

“Great!” we both responded, for we loved squash.

We went to sleep dreaming of ratatouille with pasta, zucchini bread and glorious chunks of the vegetable mixed with olive oil, parsley and crusty Italian bread.

But the pretty yellow flowers just kept blooming and blooming, producing nothing. Definitely out of place, the hardy vines grew strong and thick amongst the delicate blooms and colorful posies.


Finally, one evening I noticed a green stem protruding from the base of the flower, but had no one to share the discovery with except the dogs.

“Look! A zucchini!” They cocked their heads in unison and looked at me as if to say “…..and? If it something we can’t eat, we ain’t interested.”

Even though it was only one stem, I thought for sure more would show up eventually.

Knowing ‘a watched pot doesn’t boil’, I purposely denied myself from looking at my newly found discovery for a few days.

Imagine my surprise when I went to check on it this morning.

It’s not a zucchini.

It’s a pumpkin.

I have my very own pumpkin patch growing amongst the flowers. Planted there by unsuspecting farmers, the most obvious of all analogies appeared right before my eyes.

Bloom where you’re planted.

A WEEKEND OF PLANTING, INTENDED AND UN

We spent the weekend planting bushes and flowers, something I never thought I would find myself doing. City girls don’t farm well and that’s what the nursery is for – delivery and a teenager with a strong back to dig the holes.

Dirt? My hands in it? Nope. My nails? Dirt stuck under my nails? Ack! Bugs? Oh no, not me. Worms? Oh God, no. Not me.

I have learned to adapt, as I have with everything here in the country. To know I did a lot of it myself is the best reward. I still don’t like the feel of the dirt in my hands, so I wear gloves. I talked to a toad after he jumped out of one of my flowerpots, and it was in language that wouldn’t burn the ears off of a kindergartner. A farmer I will never be; but I appreciate beauty when I see it. This ‘ole city girl is getting there.

Seeing the end result has changed me, somehow. The bulbs we planted in the fall have all but spent themselves now and it made me anxious for more color. It was time to replenish our view along the walkways and I was excited to do it. Little by little I’ve come to appreciate the unique surprise in working with my hands and creating something out of nothing. One could say I do this with writing, but it’s not the same. The beauty of the begonias, petunias and pansies, the layout of marigolds against the green grass and the explosion of poppies make me yearn for the sunshine and the smell of freshly cut green grass. Even though I sneeze my head off, it is all worth it.

A lot of the planting is done without forethought by Mother Nature, with a helping hand offered by her cousin, windy afternoon. Holly Hocks along the white picket fence multiply like hangers in my closet; I never seem to realize how many I have, and am always surprised to find them. Lined up like soldiers, I appreciate them being there and would never thin them out.

Little bluebells show up along the side of the house as another gift from the rolling breeze of the lake and seeds from my neighbors, for I know I never planted them. I think we probably share a lot of the same flowers, trading and comparing without our ever realizing it. They are truly gifts given freely and I love them all.

Between my beloved, myself and Mother Nature, we got the job done. Someday, I’ll be able to appreciate the worms; but not yet. One thing at a time.