Pixel Dance

This picture may not look like much, but it is one branch of my apple tree. If you look closely at where the blossoms used to be, you can see several swelling stems, which is the sign that these blossoms have indeed set, and if all goes well, will produce lovely fruit. Maybe.

Which, of course, got me thinking. Have you ever been the kind of person who has the potential to bear lots of fruit? Do you have loads of talent, lots of potential, the confidence you need to get to fruition? I’ve got to be honest, sometimes I feel a lot like this branch. Out of this branch of set pre-fruit, maybe one or two will actually make it. And if we get a heck of a hail storm, not one of them has a chance. It’s not fruit until it’s fruit. Now, it’s just the potential to be fruit.

So back to me. I get this far a lot. I’ve got potential. And it looks like I’m going to get a lot of fruit out of my branch. But then the storms come. And it’s all I can take to hang on, to not give up. I’ll even tell myself that piece of hail is going to nail me. Or I get crowded out by a louder fruit, or a pushier fruit, or just a mean one. And even if I do make it, I’m smaller, I’m less, as I try to share the same space with the big fruit. I’ve got to tell you, it is rough business trying to be fruitful.

A lot of times I get to this point, where it looks like all I need to do is get to the finish line, and I stop looking for the difficulties. I think things should work out from here. I’ve done the hard part, set the thing in motion, now it should go well. But this is the time of attack. And the better I get at figuring that out, the more prepared I will be at protecting that little baby of goodness until the time comes to call it what it is, not what it could be.

I’ll keep track of that branch, and let you know who’s hanging on.

The blog is back, because the plants are back. And I can’t resist the scent of the blossoms on the air, or the dance of the tulip petals in the brisk early breezes. This is a great time of year in the yard because the fruit trees are just starting to bloom. I have a beautiful plum tree, two apple trees, two pear trees, and two cherry trees. The plum is just finishing her blooming time, and the pears are in full stride, enticing bees to the table. The apples are just ready to burst forth. And I stare at the cherry branches every day, looking for signs of their blossoms.

Of course there can’t be movement outside without a lesson to be learned. Today I was thinking about blossoms and fruit. The Bible talks about how “you will know them by their fruit,” a reference to Christians being known by the way they live their lives. It’s pretty easy to understand from anyone’s point of view, but as a fruit grower, I think there are some lessons left behind to those not staring at branches all day. So here are my thoughts:

Fruit never just appears on a tree. It is visible and delicious and a wonderful last step in a very intricate process. The process starts really right after last year’s season. After I picked apples last year, that tree started building up energy for this season. It began feeding and storing and preparing, even as it went to bed for the winter. Many a grower knows you have to fertilize in the fall or you won’t get many fruits the next year. that’s when the energy to fruit is collected. In the invisible time, when no one is looking, that tree is preparing, working, storing, growing.

Then, at just the right time (although I can never figure out how it knows when), the tree blooms. And they all bloom on time. The plum always blooms first, then the Bartlett pear, then the Braeburn apple. Each tree sends out the potential with open blossoms and easy pollen. I love to see the blossoms open and stretch out their petals to allow the bees in. They are open to possibility, and allow their potential to roam free. The opening, the pollenating, it’s all out of that blossom’s hands. All it does is receive and give.

Here comes the tricky time. This is the time when we see if any fruit has been set. It may have looked like all of the blossoms were set, all of the pollen was good. Every blossom should become a little fruit. But, as in life, not everything that looks like fruit is fruit. Some blossoms didn’t get enough pollen. Some didn’t get set in time. The rain comes, the wind comes, the hail comes, and some sets fall off the tree, unable to hold onto their progress. It’s hard to get fruit. There’s a lot of things pushing back against the tree. Fruit is difficult business.

Even those blossoms that do set fruit have an entire growing season to contend with. Some fruit doesn’t make it to maturity. Some rots and drops off. Some gets hit with more hail or wind. Some gets eaten from the inside by pests. Some fruits look ready to mature, but for some unknown reason they just give up, or stay small.

Then, at the right time, a well-fed tree, with the proper nutrients and time and opportunity, will bear a beautiful crop of delicious fruit. And picking time is joyous. Everything you’ve hoped for, waited for, watched for, comes happily true as juicy goodness drips from your chin. And you enjoy that which you cannot make happen.

In my life, I like to think of the 5th chapter of Galatians in terms of this. The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace — the fertilizer of God’s work in us; patience, kindness, goodness — the open blossoms of our heart; faithfulness, gentleness, self-control — the fruit of who we are to others as we let God work in us, feed us with His power in our lives. Then those around us enjoy the sweetness of who God is. And maybe our pollen will set some new fruit in them.

You can always feel a cold front coming through our area — it generally just blows your socks off. The other day, I heard the cold-front wind kick in, and decided to harvest the blooms from my roses before the petals ended up in Kansas. I was clipping away at stems, running through the yard form one rose to another like stops on a gameboard, snipping whoever was next. I started in the rose garden, and nabbed a handful of purple “Melody Parfumees.” I sheared the white climbers on the way to the english roses, where I grabbed a delicate, creamy rose with pink edges. These three roses are in different parts of the garden, so I never see them together. But in the palm of my hand, they were a lovely combination. What a complimentary and breathtaking bouquet they made.

The next day, I spent some really fun time with my dear friends, Kevin and Rachel. As we talked and laughed and played, I couldn’t help but think of that bouquet. Kevin and Rachel are designers, too, and we are a rare bunch. Which is why it’s so fun to be together with them. I feel the most authentic when I am with them — it’s as if they know where the good stuff is in me, and they know how to bring it out. And whenever I leave (which is usually late, because time evaporates when I’m with them), I leave feeling high on life. I feel like I’ve been enjoyed for who I am, and I’ve been given the chance to enjoy them for who they are. It’s darn fun.

So, the juxtaposition of this bouquet and my little friend-bouquet got me thinking. I have some other gorgeous roses in my yard, like a firecracker of a red-to-yellow rose named “Cherries Jubilee.” It’s just marvelous, but I’ve got to tell you, put it with my purple-toned bouquet, and it looks yucky. I don’t see it’s beauty. I just see it fighting to fit in a place where it doesn’t belong.

Confession time: for years I tried to fit everyone into my life. I felt the need to accept everyone, to accommodate their needs. I thought if I cared enough, we would all live happily together; if I put them first, they would fit into my bouquet. But now that I’m older and wiser (and a little more bruised), I see the beauty in allowing other people to look great in their own bouquets, where the vibrant orange or the stunning yellow can draw out the best in them. Because, really, some people will never enhance my bouquet, and I would never enhance theirs — no matter how hard I try to fit their palette. And some people, no matter how long you’ve known them, will just light you up, cast you in great light, and be the best thing near you in years.

So, I’m a little less friendly than before maybe, and definitely less inclined to change who I am so others feel more comfortable. I’m so grateful for my friends who let me shine just the way I am — who pick up on the highlights. And I’m really grateful for that thrown-together bunch of roses on a windy day.

It’s about frost time around here, so I was out taking pictures of the last flowers of the season. I snapped this one of one of a morning glory on my trellis. Morning glories are usually bright cobalt blue. But this one is pink. Utterly neon pink. Not at all what you’d expect from a morning glory. I can’t tell you how many people ask me what it is, and then stare blankly at me after the answer. And I can see what’s running through their mind: “It can’t be. Morning glories are blue.” Yes, they are. And they are pink.

Pink morning glories are a little out-of-the-box. And, you know, I’ve found that we say we want out-of-the-box, but usually, I’m not sure we do. It’s too uncomfortable, frustrating, not expected. We want the box. It tells us what to expect, so we don’t have to be fight-or-flighty. It’s safe and fine, and generally gives plenty of room to feel right. Because I think that’s what we really want — to be right. We like the tags of ingenuity and “outside the lines,” because we don’t want to be seen as stuck, or old-fashioned. And we like the sound of so many things. We like to be spiritual people. We like to be tolerant. We like to be open. It sounds so progressive. But in the end, it’s kind of a broad brush to generally make us feel OK with it all, in our rightness. And I’m not knocking that. What else are we going to do? We don’t want it to be true that we are in-the-boxers. There’s nothing wrong with wanting things to be steady and go well. And you can’t live life entirely in the unexpected. Life throws enough nasty-unexpected our way that we start to equate unexpected and nasty, and the whimsy goes out the door.

I don’t think we know how to leap the edges of the box because we’ve developed everything into a system. There’s a system to learn writing, to design your closet, to count your calories. There’s a system for finding a spouse, reaching happiness, reading the right books. There’s a way to do everything right. Which means everything done out of sheer inspiration or impulse is probably seen as “the wrong way.” Impulse = uncontrolled. Inspiration = undisciplined. Life = safe.

I don’t know about anyone else in the world, but I’m a slave to whimsy. I don’t want to fit in the system. I want to see what happens if I don’t. And I’m not talking about things of morality or social conscience. I’m talking about a song whose second verse doesn’t resolve. Or some hot black boots with a purple dress. Or a pink morning glory. What is the harm in testing the box walls? It may just be delightful out there. . .

I have a secret. It’s tucked back behind my shed in the backyard. It’s my secret rose garden. I have 65 roses in my yard, and 40 of them live happily together tucked in that safe spot. The english roses greet you, along with the white climbers I’m coaxing up the shed walls. As you step onto the first patio, the pinks and reds welcome you in. And as you wrap your way up a few steps and onto the circular patio, you are surrounded by the oranges and yellows, as they invite you to bring your tea out and visit with them. I have wild roses, english roses, floribundas, hybrid teas. And they aren’t as difficult as you may think to grow. You just have to be able to live with imperfection. Mine occasionally get black spot or aphids, but it’s all right. Sometimes, like this year, they hardly grow, or they wait until the end of the season to break into song. But there is nothing like walking out, catching my “Wildfire” in full bloom, burying my head in the face of my “Mr. Lincoln,” or standing back and taking in the panorama of color.

My favorite place to get roses is Jackson & Perkins (jacksonandperkins.com). Every year they introduce their rose of the year, and it’s such a thrill to open the catalog when it comes in the mail. I will tell you the best time to order is when they have their sales a couple of times a year. They are worth waiting for — this year I purchased 7 english roses for the price of 3 regular ones. Even better yet, check the local Lowe’s and Home Depot for last year’s Jackson & Perkins roses. There’s a real deal.

Don’t be afraid of roses. They really aren’t as persnickity as they’ve been made out to be. I do find the english and wilds to be the easiest for our area. Find a semi-protected spot in the yard where they can have a few hours of afternoon sun, drop a little good soil from a bag, and plant them up to the bump (the graft, for those who want vernacular). They need regular water, so don’t be skimpy on that (and water the bottom, not the leaves, if you can — and every other day is good), and cut the dead blooms off after they’re finished. For winter, cut all the canes off at about 6 inches from the ground, and cover the whole thing in dirt. Next year, uncover to the bump, and repeat. And if all of that seems like too much, please come visit me. I love to walk my friends through the yard (ad nauseum), pointing out my favorite spots, and the best growers. My husband calls this “the walk,” and I’d love it if you’d join us.