SECOND BLOOM
Fall is Magical and full of choices. Do I rake the leaves or leave them be? Do I busy myself in the garden, or enjoy the cadence of birdsong at the end of the season? Do I plant for next year or let it all go until Spring? Mother Nature will carry on either way, so I am giving myself a permission slip to give myself a little white space. Do you need one? All of Nature is letting go. Leaves are falling and starting to turn. The bees are getting that last bit of food before they slumber. Fall apples are ripe and the best bite is one fresh from the tree. Are you feeling busy as a bee or enjoying letting go of the old leaves? How are you feeling this season?
Now it's the middle of October 2024 and I still count the years like I am in school. I love the fresh page and the sharp pencil. Lately, I am feeling the weight of what is going on in the world and making time to write in my journal. Much like pulling weeds, I put pencil to paper to cultivate hopefulness and examine what needs to go in the compost bin. I wanted to share something from my journal with you from a year ago, about an old dream getting a new life. If you are feeling the weight of things, I hope this will bring you a smile, a little hope, and maybe some magic as the season turns. I invite you to travel back to last Fall with me, to October 2023…
For the first time last Fall I didn’t cut back my favorite rose. I planted this rose years ago knowing it was too big for the space. I do these things anyway. I fell hard for its fragrance and the soft pink petals that reminded me of a shell. My rose lives near my back door so I see it every day. In the Spring she blooms and I enjoy her as I come and go. Last Fall something unexpected happened. My rose bloomed again and was the beginning of something completely new.
This winter I'll be turning 53 and for whatever reason the wildness of things have been calling to me. This Fall I just “let things go” a little bit in my garden. I let things get a little blousy, a little unkempt, a little undone. I let my hair grow out longer and I’m wearing earrings that swing with my hair. It feels good. I felt my own spirit, my own self unwind, a little bit. I’m finding myself not worrying so much about how things look. I’m caring more about how things FEEL. I bought a pair of butter-soft yoga pants and now my jeans don’t feel as friendly.
This Fall I’m feeling things deep in my body. I like the way I feel when leaves cascade off the trees and brush my longer hair. Or when I jump in a cold mountain pool at the base of a waterfall gasping for breath. Or the amazement I feel when a hummingbird buzzes by. I got too close to her blue-cupped salvia once the season started to turn. This Fall season letting things go revealed an unexpected gift. My neglect and lack of pruning and tidying yielded the unexpected glamor of possibilities and mystery. What would happen if I stopped the “Doing” and allowed the “Being”? What if I allowed myself the gift of beholding what the garden wanted me to see?
In Late October I started to see the bud swell of something new. New things are budding at a time when I did not expect it. I watched as the rose climbed high overhead, her buds swinging on shimmering canes in the sunshine. I had dreams about doing new things in my design work but nothing seemed to take root. Everything seemed so hard. One afternoon after my computer crashed and my car battery died I was muttering angrily under my breath and marching head down out my back door. My Rose slapped me in the face. (When I say this I’m saying that the bloom literally hit me in the face). My Rose spoke to me. “Look!! she said. Look up!!” Her brilliant pink banner was a signal against the blue sky. Inviting me to step out of the angry march of despair and SEE. I realized these buds had bloomed when everything else had been falling apart. Even when I was trying and failing and flailing, she bloomed.
Over the next weeks, I marveled at my Rose and thanked her for surprising me. Her canes arch high overhead and shower me with the gifts of what is possible when you least expect it. The last rose of the season is blooming in the first truly cold days of November. She nods to greet me in a breeze. Reminding me not to give up. To keep dreaming. To keep at it. And not take myself so seriously.
I was meeting a friend and colleague to open up about my dreams and talk over new possibilities in life and work. I was nervous and worried that I would Fail. LOOK foolish. I stood fretting by my back door and turned to see her. With my coffee cup in hand, I opened the back door and went outside to look at my Rose. She was magnificent. Her wild tangled beauty, shot upward toward the sky, blooming in the last minute before Winter. I marveled at her thumbing her nose at the coming cold and dormant season. I felt a stirring inside my heart and I heard her. “Second Bloom, she whispered. You’re having a Second Bloom.” Deep inside I felt the petal soft whisper of “What if” for my own next act. What if my life was about to bloom in a new way? That a season of creativity, expansion, grace, and love was about to be born. And all I had to do was to be willing. Willing to take a risk. Willing to give voice to this new creativity…
In rereading this journal entry from last October, I remember feeling so scared, so frustrated, and wanting to give up. I have so much gratitude for my family, my work, and my garden…for Nature and the way she teaches me. I am looking back over the past year of many new creative endeavors and blooming relationships at work and at home. There were stumbles and worries and leaps for joy and smiles. I love helping people find joy in their own backyard, to create their own haven. My Rose is still telling me to reach for the sky and I’m going to take her up on it. I hope you do too.
As a BIG THANK YOU for reading, I would love to gift you a garden.. In case you missed it, I released the Magic of the Meadow Garden into the Wild. You can enjoy a FREE design featuring pollinator-friendly plants that bloom from Spring to Frost, with all the plant information you need. Click here for perennials that will come back year after year. You can plant now for up to 5 weeks until the first hard frost. Or wait until Spring to plant—your choice.
See you in the Garden.
-Wendell
