plants

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Finding new pots for root-bound plants isn’t easy in November. After trying convenient stores like Target, I took a drive to a garden store and found what I was looking for. Yesterday, my daughter and I repotted a plant with a history. It’s a snake plant. When she was about eight, she rescued it from me. It wasn’t a favorite. Not even sure where it came from. It sat on a shelf fastened midway up the kitchen window frame and was too tall for that place. In a rare moment of cleaning, I lifted the plant from the shelf and walked with it down the hill to our garden where I unceremoniously removed it from the pot and laid it on the earth, figuring it would be good compost for the next year’s crop.

My young daughter did not approve. “Mom!! You’re KILLING that plant,” she said. No amount of recounting the cycle of nature, of things returning to earth to nourish what comes next could convince her. She stood her ground, looking accusingly into my eyes. “No, YOU ARE KILLING THAT PLANT.”

Exasperated, I gave in, sort of. “If you want it, you repot it.” She wouldn’t bother I thought.

Wrong. She brought it to me in the same pot and poor soil, and it went back on the shelf. That year it flowered for the first time, positively dripping nectar. For two years it did that. In my face. I was chastened, and it has moved with me or one of my daughters ever since.

Yesterday, its savior helped me place it in a lager pot. This plant is huge with some leaves four feet tall. It’s become company for me in my office, and I’ve become fond of it. As I was running in and out of the house for potting soil, florist’s tape, and scissors, I called out to my daughter…

“Talk to it, honey. Lay your hands on it. Hold it steady. It trusts you.” She did and carried it back inside.

Today, after buying three new pots, more soil, and a little trellis for a plant that would just as soon climb as spread out all over the buffet, I prepared the counter in the kitchen and put on a little Bach. Couldn’t hurt, I thought. The three chosen plants were ready to break their old containers with roots so thick and entwined that they easily slid out of the pots. I spoke softly, patted, watered, and placed them in clean saucers on the buffet. Root room at last.

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

I cleaned the kitchen and then, for a while, just sat and looked at them. Lovely. Dark soil. Clean clay pots. Room to grow. I thought I should probably do something. Like read for the course I’m taking or visit a great niece who’s spending a few days with her grandparents. Or straighten up the dining room table. But I didn’t want to move. Bach was sounding good. I chose root room over busy, breathing deep and letting thoughts and “shoulds” untangle, like I imagined the roots were beginning to do in their new pots. So, there we sat, the plants and I, listening to Cantata #208 and relishing a little space.

Patience

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Almost three years ago, I bought a Christmas cactus plant at Trader Joe’s. It was my first Christmas in my apartment and the plant looked cheery. It wasn’t big. Actually, it looked as if someone had stuck three stems in a pot of dirt. But it had blossoms. I took it home and placed it on a little prayer “table” that held a book of daily readings, a small cross, and a smattering of sea shells, small stones, and a feather. I think it liked its home because it bloomed at Christmas, but also at other times during the year.

Once, I found a single leaf-like pad had fallen from the main stem. I wondered if it would root if I stuck it in the dirt around the plant. So, I did. I watched it for months. It didn’t wither or turn brown or black, so I figured it was still “alive.” Every month or so, I’d check. No change. A year passed. Nothing. One day I pulled at it gently to see if it had rooted at all. It didn’t offer any resistance, but when I lifted it a bit I could see a white thread-like root, I assumed, so I quickly pushed the leaf-pad back into the soil.

Months passed. Then, a few days ago, when I watered all my plants, including the Christmas cactus, I saw it: A tiny pale green leaf pad growing right out of the top of the one that had been sitting in that dirt for a couple of years! Amazing. A smile spread across my face. I could never bring myself to pull up the leaf, but really, I didn’t expect it ever to grow.

Patience. Some things just take time. I never guessed what work was going on inside that little leaf that looked as if it had been doing nothing for the past year and a half. You just never know. We can be the same, often not a good judge of what is growing and changing in others or even within ourselves. If we believe the Spirit dwells within every person, then shouldn’t we also believe that something is growing within each of us? That God is up to good, even when we see no evidence?

Patience with others. Patience with ourselves. Patience with God’s time.

I called my sister to tell her the news.

“I forgot to show you when you were over tonight. The Christmas cactus leaf is growing!

She promised to have a look when she stopped by next time she stopped over.

“It reminds me of the parable of the fig tree,” she said. “You know, the one where the fig tree doesn’t produce fruit, and the owner wants to pull it out, but the gardener says ‘give me another year…'”

It did:

Luke 13, 6-9 Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, ‘For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?’

“‘Sir,’ the man replied, ‘leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.’”

The little Christmas cactus needed longer than a year. I’m not sure if the scripture passage suggests that God is patient, or that we’d better get going because God won’t wait forever. I think God waits. It’s earth-time that runs out. When it does, I believe God is there, ready to celebrate what has sprouted from the bit of Divine Self planted in each of us.

Room to Grow

Patience