Miracle of the petunias

Even in our lovely climate, petunias are considered an annual. When the crisp frosts of winter come, the South American native usually withers and dies... usually.

For the past several years, there has been at least one petunia that survives the winter and begins blooming very early in the spring. The petunia of the summer of 2007 that survived was a pale lavender shade. Then this white petunia of the summer of 2008 has survived not one, but TWO winters. It defies all reason. Particularly this one, as it is in a flower pot out in the middle of the garden unsheltered and open to the elements.

When I first discovered the "miracle of the petunias" in my garden just before Easter 2008, I wrote:

Every year when spring comes, I find at least one miracle that draws my mind back to the promise of new life. This year it was a petunia that wintered over through numerous frosty nights in a little pot at the base of the birdbath. It never let go of life. It hung on and is now in bloom again. It's exuberance and tenacity have reminded me that despite the bitter times in life, if we are rooted in a good place we will weather life's winters. We will come through alright and be able to bloom again... [T]here is no way that the miracles of my own life and the miracles of humankind's existence in general could happen unless there was a loving Creator that made it so by His powerful hand. Just as the petunia is blooming again and as Christ rose again from the tomb on the third day after being crucified, I can bloom again after each challenge in life and ultimately have the promise of "blooming" one last time to enjoy a resurrected body myself and live for eternity with those I love.

I am thankful that once again, I have the miracle of the petunias in my garden to remind me of the blessings that are and will be mine if I persevere--blessings that come because my Savior gave His life for me and everyone else in the world.

Easter Reflections

Orange blossoms on the navel orange tree (Easter Sunday 2009)

Today, on Easter Sunday, I feel the need to post when I normally don't post on Sunday. I've had much to ponder and reflect upon since Palm Sunday last week. I went back to what I wrote last Easter and realized how so much can change in just one year's time--so very much. And yet there are some things that never change--the things that matter. I wrote last year:

"My garden inspires me to think of those things that matter in the whole eternal scheme of things. It never ceases to amaze me how trees, plants, and earth do that."

Maybe that is why so many of us are drawn to the garden, to the earth, and the soil under our feet. Maybe it is because while we are physically planting, sowing and tilling, we also find ourselves planting, sowing and tilling within our hearts and souls. We are finding a place for ourselves to grow.

Last year just before Easter, I had finished planting our olive tree. This year, I have just finished reading a wonderful book by Carol Drinkwater entitled "The Olive Farm". Over the past year, I've watched the little olive tree that I put into the ground. Olive trees grow slowly. They don't produce fruit until they are seven to ten years old. I've pruned my little olive already for this year. I am shaping her to become the "queen of the garden". Her shape must be started now so that as she grows into her life's purpose, her form is already there. I've thought about how much I am like an olive tree being pruned for a larger purpose that seems so far away in the future. I feel so small and so unfit, but the Master's hand knows best. He prunes and shapes me to fit my purpose.

Garlic chives in bloom (Easter Sunday 2009)

Easter always draws my mind back to the olive tree. Last year I reflected on the planting of our olive tree:

"There is something about planting an olive that is meaningful, spiritual, and deeply symbolic. The Garden of Gethsemane where Christ spent the night before his crucifixion had olive trees in it. The name 'Gethsemane' literally means 'olive oil press'. Christ spent those agonizing night-time hours being pressed emotionally, mentally, and physically until He bled from the pours of His skin. He was the only perfect and sinless person that had or will ever walk the earth. He was like a harvest of perfect olives used to produce the best and finest extra virgin olive oil--the oil that is prized because it is from the 'first press'. Christ's experience in Gethsemane was the 'first press' in so many ways. That Atonement that Christ performed that night, produced the finest and most precious gift that mankind could ever receive--an Atonement for our sins, our pains, our sorrows, and our iniquities.

"As I tamped down the earth around our own olive tree, all of these thoughts ran through my mind. I felt moved to offer a prayer after the planting was over to ask that the olive tree would thrive, prosper, and fulfill the measure of its creation here in our garden. As I closed the prayer with tear-filled eyes, I felt a closeness to my Savior. It was a fitting way to begin the week preceding Easter.

"As I have hauled each wheelbarrow full of gravel and placed it into the trenches that are now paths that run around and by the olive tree's planter, I realized how much that part of the garden is beginning to look like the way I have always envisioned Gethsemane looks even though I've never seen it in person. Over and over I have had the words of a song going through my head as I have worked--I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked. And today as I completed the last of the path that hides the main trench, I sat down to take a last look before the light in the spring sky faded too much for me to see. Again, the words ran through my head."

Southwest corner of Rosehaven Cottage's gardens (Easter Sunday 2009)

And as I walked through the garden taking photographs to capture the beauty of this Easter Sunday, I was struck again by very similar thoughts--and this, despite the fact that there has been so much progress and change in that space. Again, there are some things that are constant and unchanging. For instance, the changing of the seasons that I wrote about last year:

"Whether one is Christian or not, the season of Spring is full of hope and renewal. Even my friends in the southern hemisphere are celebrating a time where nature is getting ready for renewal by shedding the old."

Rose hedge on southern fenceline of Rosehaven Cottage's gardens (Easter Sunday 2009)

I think about the gifts that God has given us in nature--reminders of Him and the bigger picture. Even the seasons are a reminder to us of a larger principle. There is so much in my life that I wish to shed and be rid of--often daily. That just happens, because this is life. Each Sunday, I find such peace renewing myself with His help. I have learned that He doesn't care how many times I may stumble or fall. He cares whether I ask for His help in picking myself up to try again. It is a process of shedding and renewal that repeats around us in nature. And it is a process of shedding and renewal that I can repeat within my own heart. It is this that I am deeply thankful for this wonderful Easter Sunday.

Pacific Coast Native Iris growing at the pond's edge (Easter Sunday 2009)

Easter Arrangement

I just completed week six's arrangement for my floral design class. I had chosen a pink and white color palette of lilies, ranunculus, tulips, snapdragons, and baby roses when I picked out my flowers yesterday at Trader Joe's. Once in class, our instructor pulled out the surplus of flowers she had in the fridges and said we could use whatever we liked. I chose the pink carnations and million star (often mistaken for baby's breath) as well as the basic leather leaf fern for filler.

Last week we were told that we would be doing an Easter arrangement in a basket of some sort that we were to provide. I had noticed others asking the instructor about less traditional baskets and thought my square basket would do nicely even though most people were going to use traditional low and oblong Easter basket (I didn't have one). With the oblong baskets half would be flowers and half would be filled a stuffed animal and other Easter decor. We have a packet of sample photographs for each week, and I saw that not all of them for this week had a stuffed animal in it, so I thought I'd be okay without one.

Once in class, when our instructor told us we were free to arrange things however we wanted for this one, I figured I'd be okay. One rule we needed to follow was that our arrangement was to be 1 1/2 times the height of our basket or the width of our basket, whichever was larger.


I got going purposefully making a one-sided arrangement so it would fit on our fireplace mantle once I got it home. Since we were being allowed to do whatever we wanted, I started playing with the idea of creating an "S" curve from top to bottom through the center of the arrangement with the lilies and snapdragons. Then I thought it would be interesting to use the pink carnations as filler instead of green leather leaf so the lilies would stand out on a background of pink instead of green.

I was feeling really good about the arrangement as it grew. The more flowers I got in it, the more I liked it. My classmates were giving me compliments too, so I figured I was doing good. My instructor stayed pretty quiet. I figured it was because she was helping others and also doing her own arrangement.

When I got done, she came over to look at mine. She commented that it was definitely an "en masse" arrangement. Right then, I knew that she didn't like it. She made a few more comments about how she was going to teach me to do arrangements other than "en masse" ones. Then I really knew she didn't like it.


I felt like a heel. Everyone else was being a good follower, using the right shaped basket with the stuffed animal, and I was sitting there with an arrangement that was clearly not what she had wanted us to do. I felt like it had been a secret test, and I had failed miserably. And being a classic "people pleaser" that needs assurance from authority figures makes the whole thing smart even more.

The sad part is, it's a beautiful arrangement. I'm certain that if it was for sale in a shop, there would be someone that would fall in love with it and buy it. I could probably sell more than one like this.

The other sad part is, I love en masse arrangements that have little or no greenery. I love bouquets without greenery. I love photographs of flowers en masse without greenery. I love the repetition of colors and forms. It pleases my aesthetic. But it seems that my aesthetic is in direct contrast to my instructor's aesthetic.

This is a repeated theme in my life. In many creative classroom settings in the past, I've ended up being the "black sheep" whether I intended to or not. I really wanted this time to be different. I really wanted to conform and be the "good student" for once. I'm really going to try, but somehow I think I've already been labeled as the "problem child".

Easter Weekend Reflections

All week I've been working away at my big drainage installation project in the back garden. This week was full of wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of 3 cubic yards of pea gravel being pushed from the driveway in front to the back. The tedium of the task has allowed me to do a lot of reflecting. My garden inspires me to think of those things that matter in the whole eternal scheme of things. It never ceases to amaze me how trees, plants, and earth do that.

Early in the week I finally put the potted olive tree into the ground so it can set up permanent residence. I built up a planter for it out of chunks of recycled concrete, filled it with rich garden soil that had been compositing under the oleander for the past few years, and then manuevered the olive into place. Some narcissus, daffodils and tulips that needed new homes took up residence around the base of the olive.

There is something about planting an olive that is meaningful, spiritual, and deeply symbolic. The Garden of Gethsemane where Christ spent the night before his crucifixion had olive trees in it. The name "Gethsemane" literally means "olive oil press". Christ spent those agonising night-time hours being pressed emotionally, mentally, and physically until He bled from the pours of His skin. He was the only perfect and sinless person that had or will ever walk the earth. He was like a harvest of perfect olives used to produce the best and finest extra virgin olive oil--the oil that is prized because it is from the "first press". Christ's experience in Gethsemane was the "first press" in so many ways. That Atonement that Christ performed that night, produced the finest and most precious gift that mankind could ever receive--an Atonement for our sins, our pains, our sorrows, and our inquities.

As I tamped down the earth around our own olive tree, all of these thoughts ran through my mind. I felt moved to offer a prayer after the planting was over to ask that the olive tree would thrive, prosper, and fulfil the measure of its creation here in our garden. As I closed the prayer with tear-filled eyes, I felt a closeness to my Savior. It was a fitting way to begin the week preceding Easter.

As I have hauled each wheelbarrow full of gravel and placed it into the trenches that are now paths that run around and by the olive tree's planter, I realized how much that part of the garden is beginning to look like the way I have always envisioned Gethsemane looks even though I've never seen it in person. Over and over I have had the words of a song going through my head as I have worked--I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked. And today as I completed the last of the path that hides the main trench, I sat down to take a last look before the light in the spring sky faded too much for me to see. Again, the words ran through my head.

On this Friday of Easter weekend, I have also been privileged to receive some wonderful inspiration from the blogs of my blogging friends. As I have read of their devotion and faith, they have helped me to put my heart and mind in the place that it should be at this time of year. I found stirring inspiration from Helen at Brushstrokes, etc. both with her art and with her words. I was reminded of important questions to ponder and reflect upon from Holly at 2 Kids and Tired. And I found Easter hope and joy from Kate at Our Red House. I say "thank you" to each of them for what they have shared with me and others. Each of you have helped to give me the proper perspective for this lovely Easter celebration that is ahead of us.

Whether one is Christian or not, the season of spring is full of hope and renewal. Even my friends in the southern hemisphere are celebrating a time where nature is getting ready for renewal by shedding the old. Every year when spring comes, I find at least one miracle that draws my mind back to the promise of new life. This year it was a petunia that wintered over through numerous frosty nights in a little pot at the base of the birdbath. It never let go of life. It hung on and is now in bloom again. It's exuberance and tenacity have reminded me that despite the bitter times in life, if we are rooted in a good place we will weather life's winters. We will come through alright and be able to bloom again. Holly asked in her blog "Why do you believe?" and I have to say this is why I believe. Because there is no way that the miracles of my own life and the miracles of humankind's existence in general could happen unless there was a loving Creator that made it so by His powerful hand. Just as the petunia is blooming again and as Christ rose again from the tomb on the third day after being crucified, I can bloom again after each challenge in life and ultimately have the promise of "blooming" one last time to enjoy a resurrected body myself and live for eternity with those I love.