catapult magazine

catapult magazine

Vol 6, Num 10 :: 2007.05.18 — 2007.06.01


Gardening lessons

Part 3 of 10


Spring has came early to Manitoba this year.  Usually we hardy Winnipeg gardeners cluck a bit jealously (though we would NEVER let then know this) as our B.C. friends and relatives trumpet the news of April daffodils and tulips in their yards while we are still waiting for the snow drifts to melt. This year, we had flowers at almost the same time they did, but with sunshine and warm temperatures, too!  This was a treat to our eyes and to our souls even if it only lasted a week or two. We knew we could celebrate because even with the cooler temperatures and gray days that followed, the long winter was over and sweet spring was in the air.

An early jump into spring like we had this year makes me want to fill my empty flower beds.   I want to get out all the planters, clean them and get the impatiens, marigolds and begonias started.  An early spring has whetted my appetite for the full course of summer colours and hues.  I want to hurry my garden into its July and August spread.

But garden time is nature's time and in reality, God's time.  I may be able to rush dinner preparations or speed to an appointment I might miss.  I can get frustrated when the lines at the grocery store are long but waiting for my garden teaches me to slow down and let it happen.  I know that I can't plant small young plants before all the other perennials have even made their appearance. One cold night would put all my efforts to ruin. I can't force them to grow when the world around them isn't ready to nurture them.

Several years ago, as I slowly came back after my dark winter of depression, I felt so much the same way.  I was starting to taste the sweetness of peace and health again.  The first tulips of my recovery made me want to rush to the lush gardens of August. But it just wasn't meant to be that way.  Whenever we are healing from something that is broken, whether it is a bone or our spirits, time is the thing that is needed the most: time to let the soil of our hearts warm up, time to let dormant trees and bushes leaf out again. Time to let all that we were meant to be open and flourish.  It’s easier to let the healing process run its course if we have a visible reminder like a cast or a limp or a irritating ache but with my  broken spirit I just had to trust and move forward slowly. I had to learn to love the waiting.  I think we all do.

So with that in mind, I am going to sit and enjoy my tulips and daffodils for the next few weeks.  Each part of the year in my garden is glorious in its own way.  I will take the time to love the waiting for the full bloom ahead!

Next:  September 

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