Wildly Unexpected
In a year that’s brought so much “unexpected” to my life, I guess it fits that, this summer, one of my sweetest sources of simple joy has come from something I didn’t plan at all.
…For several years, one edge of our yard boasted a stand of very tall, very dead pine trees. My husband is normally a do-it-himself kind of guy, including when “it” requires a chainsaw. But in addition to being very tall, these trees stood near power lines - and not quite far “enough” away from our garage deck, or - more importantly - the corner of our neighbor’s house across the road. Clearly, cutting them down was just not a DIY kind of job. Finding a professional who would actually show up as agreed upon took time - and several fails - but finally, one did!
So, we began this summer with the dead trees gone! Only their stumps, surrounded by a patch of sawdust, remained. Now, Mr. DIY intended to take matters back into his own hands: One Saturday morning with a stump grinder would do away with those, he said.
But then, this summer started handing us the unexpected... It seemed to arrive in a hurry, and then it just never slowed down. Between all the things we “had to” do and the things we “wanted to” do, a Saturday morning stump grinding session did not make it to the top of the priority list.
And I’m glad.
Because not very far into summer, I noticed something…
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d intentionally planted pink or purple petunias, but there in that bed of stumps and sawdust, I for sure saw some. Maybe at some point birds had transplanted seeds? Maybe, canopied by the dead trees, they’d never gotten enough sun or rain to grow? I couldn’t know for sure, but now I was curious…
Another thing about my husband? When it comes to him versus weeds: He’s aggressive. So right away, I knew I needed to specifically declare that area off limits in his ongoing war against foreign vegetation. At least until I could see how this might turn out.
Turned out, it began to flourish.
My PaPa would have called those petunias “volunteers,” and that name would have fit. With absolutely no assistance from anyone, they spread, grew taller, and kept on blooming each week. Inspired by how effortless they were, and what an unexpectedly pretty new addition they made to that once-dead edge of our yard, I decided to try something…
One evening, armed with the garden hoe I inherited from my PaPa when he died, I scratched up the sawdust and scattered two packets of seeds: One wildflower. One sunflower. I sprinkled them with a little water, and then I walked away.
I loved watching what happened next.
After only a few days I could see sprouts. After a couple of weeks, I could see plants. The tricky part of this endeavor was that allowing the plants a chance to grow also meant allowing the weeds a chance to grow. At first, it was hard to tell the difference. But over time, it got easier. The weeds looked common; but the plants preparing to flower looked new and uniquely special.
This inspired me to put in a little effort. Not to make it “work”. Just to enjoy. One evening each week, I’d pull out some weeds, dead-head the petunias, and study all that seemed about to spring forth from those tiny seeds.
Meanwhile, I remained aware of the risk…
We have a resident flock of at least eighty-three Canadian geese. (Yes, I’ve counted. And did you know that geese will eat plants? Once upon a time, neither did I. But now I do…) This year, we also have deer! Including several beautiful little fawns. I know what they’ll eat, too. So since we share this place with all these wild herbivores, I accepted that my chances of seeing actual flowers survive for very long were probably slim.
Also, once upon a time, considering those odds, I wouldn’t have even bothered to try.
But here’s the thing: We’ve come to really appreciate and enjoy that wildlife. (Granted, we enjoy the fawns significantly more than we enjoy the geese…) We live on the river, yes, but also right in the middle of a tiny town. It feels uniquely special to have a street out the front door and all these creatures out the back. It’s their home, too. So, if they ate the results of $4.00 worth of seeds, so be it. (Also: Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?)
…One of the unexpected things this summer would hand us turned out to be the opportunity to travel just about every other weekend. So, we did! One Monday, upon returning from another trip, I noticed something that hadn’t been there when I left on Friday morning:
There, in what I’d begun affectionately calling my little “free-range flower garden”, were bright blooms! Orange and fuchsia and red… Closer inspection revealed not only those, but dozens more buds surrounding them. …It also revealed that the sunflowers had grown heads – but that those were now chopped off as cleanly as if by scissors. Except, it turned out, my son had witnessed the deer in that very act. (I knew going in that deer like sunflowers, and I tried it anyway. I guess I had that one coming!)
But so far, the deer, the geese, and everything else has left the rest of that little garden alone. It has continued to grow and change each day. I’ve grown to love doing my small part to tend it, while staying mostly hands-off to allow it to flourish exactly as it clearly can on its own. I’ve also grown to love checking on it each morning to see what’s new. It never ceases to feel a little bit magical to see the butterflies and bumblebees who seem to love it, too.
Even better than my own enjoyment of it, though, is seeing how happy it’s made others when I’ve gotten to share a little bit of this sweet, natural beauty with them. With a pair of shears, some little mason jars, and some random scraps of ribbon, I’ve loved surprising one person at a time with tiny bundles of this unexpected, yet delightful, piece of my summer.
And something I’ve noticed about those flowers, even once they’re cut? They last. I can’t help thinking that coming up the way they did… exactly when they were ready, exactly where they were planted - and in spite of everything that could have taken them out - just made them… stronger.
As I’ve watched and tended and shared that little unexpected garden, I’ve noticed one more thing. An unmistakable parallel - to a parable…
How kind is Jesus, that during his earthly life, he chose to teach the things he wanted us to understand by telling stories?
Like this one:
“Study this story of the farmer planting seed. When anyone hears news of the kingdom and doesn’t take it in, it just remains on the surface, and so the Evil One comes along and plucks it right out of that person’s heart. This is the seed the farmer scatters on the road.
The seed cast in the gravel – this is the person who hears and instantly responds with enthusiasm. But there is no soil of character, and so when the emotions wear off and some difficulty arrives, there is nothing to show for it.
The seed cast in the weeds is the person who hears the kingdom news, but weeds of worry and illusions about getting more and wanting everything under the sun strangle what was heard, and nothing comes of it.
The seed cast on good earth is the person who hears and takes in the News, and then produces a harvest beyond his wildest dreams.”
Matthew 13: 18-23 MSG
…I can so relate to this story, because at some point throughout the course of my life, I have been every one of these people. Truthfully, on any given day, I still can be. But the difference now is that I know which one I want to be… And which one I want to help others understand that they can also be… right where they happen to be planted, and in spite of everything that could take them out.
I’m thankful for the beautiful flowers I did not expect and did nothing to invite into my life. And I’m so happy that they led me to take a chance on scattering some seeds… To take a chance on what might grow – regardless of everything I knew could very well come along and tear it down. Some of it did end up torn down. But plenty took root and has thrived… bringing joy not only to me, but also to those with whom I’ve been blessed enough to share it.
It reminds me: Things do take root when the time is right. Sometimes even unexpectedly… from places we thought were dead.
