My suprise White Chrysanthemum’s in my garden, that I don’t recall planting!
On Promises, Growth and Co-creation
I had a little surprise in the garden this week.
My memory has begun to play the most interesting tricks on me. I can make two cups of herbal tea before bed, leave them on the side whilst I’m distracted with other things, and come downstairs in the morning to find them still sitting there patiently! (At 44, I’m putting it down to hormonal brain fog!)
Sometimes though, forgetting things can bring unexpected gifts. Like finding a forgotten fiver in your pocket, just in time to pay a well-deserved tip!
Looking out across the drizzle and cloud yesterday, I saw a pot of foliage that, from a distance, looked like tiny white dots waiting to burst. Pulling on my coat and slipping on my Crocs by the back door, I took my camera and ventured over for a closer look. (Although I’m LOVING my new varifocals by the way, I’m dancing around like a Disney princess singing A Whole New World!!)
To my surprise, there was a beautiful white chrysanthemum in full flower, surrounded by an abundance of buds waiting to open. I honestly cannot recall planting them! In fact when I saw some growth earlier in the year, I’d assumed they were wildflowers that had self-seeded, poppies perhaps.
An unexpected gift indeed!
As the rest of the garden slows down, with the plants beginning to retreat for winter, one pot is preparing to put on a display of its own. Amazing. That is what I’ve always loved about gardening. It is full of unexpected gifts. My husband and I have nurtured our little space from a once-bare green slope to flower beds, shrubs, trees, pots and planters. It has been, and continues to be, a sanctuary. When work was tough, (particularly, in the acute mental health wards during Covid), the garden was a safe space. A sacred space to me. I felt that the plants and trees standing around me were reaching out to say ‘We’re here, still growing, still blooming. The clouds still move across the sky, the leaves will still fall in autumn, the bulbs will still push through in spring’.
I find so much satisfaction in gardening; it’s a lot like painting. You start with an idea, you plan a little, gather the right ingredients and tools, a seed, a bulb, soil, a brush or paint, and weave the components together. There is a trust, a nurturing, a patience in allowing the form to take shape, to grow. For me, not knowing exactly how the plant will grow, or how the finished canvas will look, is part of the magic! There would be no satisfaction if the process was ‘instant’.
It is, of course, not a one-way thing. We bring our ideas, our time, our care and our intentions, but nature brings something of its own. We work hand in hand with nature’s innate wisdom, nature’s open arms, in partnership. In co-creation!
I've been reflecting on the many gifts of co-creation this week, not only with nature, but the joy that can come from sharing experiences with others. I have particularly fond memories of a period in my creative life a few years ago, when a special friend and I created seasonal gatherings for autumn and spring. Through music, nature connection and reflection, we brought together our shared interests and offered others an opportunity to celebrate the changing seasons along with us.
I wrote the following piece for one of those Spring gatherings. As I sit here on the first day of November and reminisce, I'm struck by how beautifully it captures the feelings and themes that have been on my mind this week: unexpected gifts, promises and co-creation…
A Bulb’s Promise
You hold in your hands a promise.
I promise that I will bring forth my innate potential.
I promise to surprise and delight you as I turn the earth’s elements into energy.
I promise that I will do my best to extend my roots deeply
As the rest of me stands as tall as I can
I promise to show you that there is magic in the dark.
I promise that if you give me the time to rest, to recharge
When the sun returns, I will blossom and bloom.
But only if you choose to make me a promise too.
If you promise to make time for me to rest
Promise to gift me Mother Earth as my home
Promise to nourish me with the rain
Promise not to expect me to grow overnight
but watch with curiosity and wonder, as day by day,
I rise up, stretching towards the returning light.
We can both choose to make a promise.
We promise that by caring for ourselves
We are caring for each other.
To enable us to show up in the world
And flourish as the individual flowers that we are here to be.
I've learnt that there is much joy to be found in embracing your creative voice, expressing your experiences through paint, story, poem or song. And I've also had the wonderful opportunity to experience how sharing and celebrating creativity with others can be just as delicious! There's something exciting about bringing our individual gifts together and discovering what can grow from that exchange.
Those chrysanthemums remind me that growth can happen with the right conditions, even when we're not paying full attention. We may plant something, nurture it, and then sometimes life takes us in another direction. Some things take root, others change with the seasons, and sometimes something we planted long ago surprises us by flowering when we least expect it! As the years pass, we experience our own seasons, storms, springs and sunshine, and sometimes discover unexpected gifts in the unexpected ways things continue to grow.
Just like the chrysanthemums and the promise held within a bulb, what unexpected gifts might be waiting for you to discover when you give them the right conditions to open?
Until next Sunday…
🌿 May you find inspiration in nature this week.
Tracey Anne x
