You know how ideas drift through your mind as you're falling asleep? I often wonder if my unconscious holds things in reserve just for those moments when a drifting thought will get the attention it deserves. Then two synapses, virtual strangers until that moment, connect and something that should have been apparent and wasn't is now revealed.
So it occurred to me the other night that so much of my gardens is wrapped up with my friends. I started thinking about all the plants I treasure, and how they're a living scrapbook of so many of the people I share my life with.
Like this purple columbine. Jay and I starting taking yoga years ago with a woman who is arguably the fairy grandmother of yoga teachers in our region. Doreen owns a two-story house in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Lebanon, NH. Her yard is small but packed with veggies and flowers--no grass for Doreen is a woman after my own heart.
Anyway, at this time of year, both sides of her driveway are lined with this incredible purple columbine. When you turn the flowers over, there are small white cones underneath and these are, in turn, tinged with purple and a hint of green.
I begged for seeds and Doreen complied. I sowed them in one of the two small gardens by my front door and nearly forgot about them because they never appeared. (Or I accidentally pulled up many of the seedlings because I mistook them for weeds.) Then one spring, I realized I had a purple columbine. Saved the seeds, of course, and now they're in four of my gardens.
So I think of Doreen whenever I see these wonderful flowers in bloom. Namaste.
No comments:
Post a Comment