I Belong in the Trees: Reflections of a Grocery-Store Orchid

For the second year in a row, my moth orchid is ready to bloom. The buds are plumping up and, just like last year, the flowers will provide a much-needed splash of colour through the never-ending month of February.

Plump orchid buds will be blooming any day

This is quite the achievement for an orchid purchased in a grocery store. Many people will pick one up already in full bloom, enjoy the long-lasting flowers, and then unceremoniously dump the plant when the flowers have faded. Confession: I have been guilty of this myself, but I am working hard to change my ways.

Moth orchid in full bloom (February 2021)

The ease with which some see these plants as disposable got me thinking about orchids. Do they long for their natural habitat? Are they aware of where they come from; of what might have been for them? It made me wonder whether orchids wish they could be more than they are. These plants are often described as exotic and elegant. Are they truly that if they are limited by their circumstances—in this case, their existence on a grocery-store shelf? All of these thoughts resulted in the following poem.

I Belong in the Trees: Reflections of a Grocery-Store Orchid

I belong in the trees

                               stretching

searching for the sun

through dappled light

                               breathing

absorbing the lush heat

of my tropical genesis

                               climbing

ascending on branches

that anchor me to the rainforest

                               clasping

laying hold of surrendered origins

long abandoned to a clear plastic pot

I belong in the trees

                              bending

bridging the distance

between reality and my imagination

I am looking forward to many weeks of colourful blooms from my grocery-store orchid.

Happy Gardening!

The Garden on My Windowsill

Every year when the temperature drops, I attempt (usually unsuccessfully) to overwinter and propagate some plants. This year, herbs in a strawberry planter and begonia and coleus cuttings are growing by the light of the kitchen door and windows (I don't want to talk about the osteospermum and geraniums faltering in the upstairs window). Caring for these plants and encouraging them to grow is a far cry from being out in the sun and gardening in the backyard, but until the sunshine and warm temperatures return, my windowsill garden will have to do.

Herbs, begonias, and coleus in my windowsill garden.
Pancake plant is a bonus

While watering the other day and checking for signs of new life, it occurred to me that these small plants and cuttings are under a lot of pressure.They are growing in less than ideal conditions (probably not warm enough by the back door, and probably not enough light), and yet I expect a lot from them. They carry the legacy of last year's garden and the hope for next year's garden. That's a heavy load for a little plant.

New growth on a red begonia

As I thought about my own anticipation for spring and the hopes I placed into each of the small pots in kitchen, a poem came to mind.

The Garden on My Windowsill

The garden on my windowsill bears the burden

of my eclipsed summer spirit

restless in the cold grey of dark January days

Potted cuttings radiate warmth and colour

standing as sentries against the sudden slump

of my passion and my lifeblood 

Clippings rooted in still water

quench a constant thirst for spring

and absorb my daydreams of green

Of winding climbers that spiral toward blue skies

and creepers that hold the earth close

Of heirlooms that carry a history

and flower beds brimming and grandiose

Of birdbaths alive with splashing and song

and bees dancing above a rainbow of blooms

Of slow walks along brick herringbone paths

on barefoot days under the sun and the moon

The garden on my windowsill relieves the weight of winter

lifting me into the harmony of memories and visions

lighting the cold grey of dark January days

The bright lime green of a coleus cutting
brightens my windowsill

It won't be long before these plants can be transplanted back into the garden (provided I don't fail them before that).  

Happy Gardening!

Summer Memories: The Last Daylily

It would appear that when my ability to garden is limited by the weather, poetry moves in to fulfil my need to be connected to the earth and to be creative. The frigid days of January are here, and I find myself on an extended break due—once again—to the pandemic, and so my mind has turned to dreams of summer and the words that bring the images of my imagination to life. I am working on a new poem. Until it is finished, here is a short reflection I wrote last summer about how brief the garden season is. Not only are the pictures of the last daylilies of 2021, but the poem is the last of my poems for 2021.

Orange daylily in my garden

The Last Daylily

The last daylily bloomed today

The first orange sun

setting on a season just begun

A reminder of time's quick passage

The last daylily of summer 2021

More poems are on the way for the months ahead.  I can feel it!

Happy Gardening!