Most of us are only leaving our homes to go to the market and then home again, home again, jiggety-jig. After one market trip I pulled into our driveway, parked and unloaded the groceries, as usual. But this time I went back outside because I had caught sight of a single, exquisite calla lily shaded by ferns. I thought it had gone the way of all the other callas I had planted—a few struggling leaves emerging in spring and then quickly dying. I was pleased to see a post-Easter resurrection.
The day lilies looked healthy too, surrounded by a ring of fallen camellia blossoms. The lilies had diminished in size each year as well, until I transplanted them to a new location a few months ago.
The two remaining branches of our apple tree were blooming. A hungry, pregnant doe had broken most of them last fall when she had tried to balance her front hooves on the trunk and had stripped the uppermost branches with her strong teeth. Although I caught her red-hoofed, she appeared defiant and ignored my shooing.
Crocosmia had shot up sword-like leaves amid a display of petrified wood. They are one of the few flowers in our yard that do not have to be babied and offer a spray of brilliant orange. Because orange stands out so well against green, it is my favorite garden color.
Since we don’t have a real koi pond, this sculpture makes a great stand-in. I love koi because they are affectionate and like to be petted. Koi are on the short list of aquatic creatures who have nuzzled my hand to be petted, along with tiger sharks and bat rays.
In the previous blog I mentioned a bear that had enjoyed itself at the expense of our pear tree. But this same tree had also nearly fallen over due to the strong western winds that blow in off the Pacific. The pear has been through a lot although you’d never know it by just looking at its lovely blossoms.
Fuzzy salal flowers tickled my toes. Their rouge-colored stems echo their roots, which are strong and tenacious despite their deceptively delicate pink hue.
A blush of quince blossoms crowded along the branches of our large bush. This is one plant no animal will disturb, even when large yellow pear-shaped fruit ripen and spread enticing aromas throughout the yard. Most humans ignore the fruit as well since it’s difficult to process and can’t be eaten raw.
I was surprised to see a couple of residual red berries on a bush below the deck. Having spent most of my life east of the Rockies, berries equal autumn. But the manzanitas are already producing berries too. I periodically forget in what a unique microclimate I now live.
As I was about to go back inside, I passed by the vivid petals of the Sparaxis, or harlequin flower. For many Midwest winters, I had pined for this beauty when I saw it on the pages of nursery catalogs, but being a South African native, it is only hardy in zones 9-10. I had forgotten all about it when I spied it blooming in my mother’s garden last fall. I knew right then it had a chance of survival in my own, and she happily shared her bounty. It is decidedly thriving.
Almost all of these plants carry stories of survival. Let’s glean from them what we can, and bloom where we’re rooted these days: at home.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my most recent daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 