Letting Go

There are those who embrace change.  They live for something different, the excitement of things fresh and new.  I am not one of those.  Now, I will "tweak" things to the point of madness; deciding on a more convenient place in the kitchen cabinet for the spices, or a more logical location for the trashcan, but as a whole I prefer the familiar, the comfortable, the things to which I have become accustomed. 

What's In A Name?

I am a plant snob.  At least that's what a friend of mine jokingly calls me.  She calls me that because I often use the botanical names of plants, rather than the common names.

Looking Through the Leaves

The window at my kitchen sink is the window that I look out more than any other window in my house.  For the longest time, the view out of this window was probably the least attractive of any view from any other window. 

IBM's

The first time I ever heard a fellow gardener refer to some of her plants as "IBM's", I wondered when IBM Corp. had branched out, so to speak, into the world of floriculture.  I couldn't wait to see what strange new offerings she had, and I was already plotting the most understated manner in which to convince her to offer me a few cuttings or divisions.  A little further into our conversation, it became clear that IBM simply stood for "I've Been Moved."


It seems that if there is one thing all dyed-in-the-wool gardeners have in common, it's the tendency to move our plants about from one location to another in our landscapes. 

Weeds

I have mixed emotions about weeds.  Well, mostly I despise them for being such a nuisance in my flowerbeds.  But occasionally I come across a weed with such a simple beauty that I am compelled to leave it where it grows.  There are actually times when I will photograph one of my weeds, such as the one pictured at the right.  How can one not appreciate the delicate, fringe-like white petals, the warm, golden eye, and the the understated beauty of this little plant?  I am even drawn to its slightly bitter fragrance as it evokes memories of walking through the pasture behind the little white frame house where I lived as a small child.  Why not enjoy the weeds?  After all, they are technically "native plants."

As gardeners, plant-enthusiasts or landscape designers, it seems as if we have a tendency to tinker too much with nature. 

The Fragrance of Spring

Lonicera fragrantissima
(Fragrant Honeysuckle)

I once heard an interview with a gardener who was totally blind.  As she talked about the various ways in which she enjoyed her garden without the ability to see, it was not surprising that she mentioned the importance of her sense of smell.  What did surprise me, however, was her answer to a question regarding her favorite smell.  She replied that it was the first smell she was aware of after the winter thaw and the melting of the snow... it was the smell of the soil.  That was the smell that she anticipated the most and the aroma that she most cherished.


Favorite.  That word brings to mind other words, such as best, prettiest, smartest... all those words that seem to describe things that have the highest "rankings" in appearance, value, talent, etc.  But that lady's statement started a flood of memories for me of some of my favorite smells.



Oh, sure, there were some "beautiful" fragrances in my favorite memories, like the smell of honeysuckle that used to grow up and down the ditch bank that ran alongside the road that led to my father's horse barn.  But a smell that ranked far higher in my favorites was the smell of the horse barn itself.  I recall that heady combination of the scratchy hay we played in up in the hayloft, the dust that was so thick at times it would cover you in a thin layer of mud if you had worked up a sweat in the heat of the Arkansas summer, the molasses that had been added to the combination of oats and grains for the sweet-feed for the animals, the horses that stomped and whinnied when we ran giggling through the barn and interrupted their afternoon nap, and yes, even the manure that my sister and I were assigned to remove from each stall with pitchforks and transport by wheelbarrow to a pile that my dad kept near the ditch behind the barn.  All of those smells blended together to create a fragrance I prefer over the finest perfumes.




Lonicera fragrantissima (Fragrant Honeysuckle)

 There's the musty, dusty smell of cotton that's just been picked and is piled high like summertime drifts of snow in green metal trailers as they wait to be taken to the gin and pressed into bales.  Those drifts of cotton provided hours and hours of entertainment for my sister and me as we tunnelled through and mounded up piles of cotton, building forts and caves for cowboys and indians in which to hide and from which to attack.  As a child, I couldn't have told you that cotton had a smell.  But as an adult, a whiff of that dusty fragrance takes me back to wonderful, carefree days when my greatest concern was convincing my mother to give me just a few more minutes to play outside before I had to come in and clean up for supper.



Rosa 'Janet'



Memories as vivid as these help me to understand the power of the  sense of smell.  It's not something neutral.  It will make either a positive impression or a negative impression.  And the impression it makes on someone is powerful and long-lasting.  Keeping that in mind, have you ever wondered how God must smell?  Why wouldn't He have some sort of smell?  His Word tells us that He is something that we will someday see, and it gives us a limited description of how He looks.  If we will listen, we can hear His voice as He speaks to us.  When we draw close to Him there are times we can actually feel His presence.  In the Psalms we are told that if we take refuge in Him, we can taste and see that the Lord is good.

 

The Bible actually describes us who are Christians as "spiritual diffusers" for lack of a better phrase.  "But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowlede of Him."  II Corinthinas 2:14.

Gardenia jasminoides 'August Beauty'

In other words, God leads me to spread the fragrance of the knowledge of Him to everyone with whom I come in contact.  He wants me to smell like Him, in order that others can breathe deeply of a fragrance they've never before experienced; a fragrance that they should want for themselves.  But, can those around me recognize "the fragrance of the knowledge of Him," or are they unable to be recognize it because of the stench of my self-absorbed lifestyle.  Perhaps a good, long soak in Him every day will allow His fragrance to come through.


"Submit yourselves, then, to God.  Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.  Come near to God and He will come near to you.  Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded."  James 4:7-8

Transplants

Transplanting... probably most gardeners' favorite thing to do. After all, that's what gardening is all about, isn't it? We take those little seedlings that we have started from seed, and we transplant them... we set them out in their chosen place in the garden so they can add their beauty or provide their fruits.

And I love the fact that here in this part of the country I can find something to transplant just about any time of year. Even in the cold of late winter, I can transplant pansies or dianthus, as long as the ground isn't frozen. But when it comes to transplanting, it's not the pansies or the petunias or the peppers that come to mind. It is, and always will be, my dear friend Allison.

A Snowy January & February

When the ground is completely covered in snow, and all of the trees stand starkly bare against the gray sky, everything appears to be lifeless. No growth is visible. No fruit is being produced. No flowers are filling the spaces with color and fragrance. There seems to be no point in the season. Everything is dormant... in a state of rest. Ah! There is the point in the season. A state of rest.