Weekly Roundup 35: Pollination

From the linden tree that blooms in the spring to the summer's bee balm to the last sunflower of autumn, I have a fair number of bees buzzing around my yard all season. I'm not a master gardener, but I steer clear of pesticides and in general try to have a suitable oasis where the bees can get about their business of pollination.

In very simple terms, pollination is the transfer of pollen within and between flowers, which allows for fertilization and production of the plant's fruit or seed. Bees, birds, bats, butterflies, beetles, moths, and even the wind are part of the process. It is so critical to food production, from large-scale agriculture to small garden plots like mine, that the State of Colorado passed legislation this year to protect pollinating insects and their habitats. 

So, for many plants, nothing comes to fruition without pollination.

Bear with me as I try tie this in to writing.

I have a partially completed manuscript I've been trying to get back to for months. When people ask me if I'm writing, I think about that neglected WIP and feel guilty when I say, no, not really, I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now, been busy with other things, I'm stuck, etc. (All these things are true, by the way, but not great excuses.)  

I'm so grateful for people who care about me and my writing. And it occurred to me the other day that every time someone asks me, it's almost as if...here it comes...each question is like a friendly bee buzzing around me, pollinating my creativity, doing its part to nudge me closer to fruition.

Too much of a stretch? Probably.   

But I think it's working.  

A big thank you to all the literal and metaphorical pollinators in my life! See you all next week.

Weekly Roundup 9: Orchid Patience

 

I'm not sure how long I've had this orchid, but I think my husband gave it to me a few years ago. This is the third time it has bloomed, and it is the best bloom so far. I don't do anything in particular to the plant, just leave it in the same place and water it. And wait.

I wish I could say that I wisely apply this hands-off patience to other parts of my life, but that's challenging. I always feel like there's something I could and should be doing to get the desired result. Watching and waiting seems too passive. But sometimes when conditions are right, that's all that needs to be done. 

The tricky part is finding the balance between productivity and rest, which is something my orchid apparently doesn't stress about.

The Ides of March: Julius Caesar was assassinated on March 15, and the date was immortalized by Shakespeare's famous line: "Beware the ides of March." The Ides of March still has an unlucky vibe, but in ancient Rome, "ides" referred only to the full phase of the moon. The Romans used a lunar calendar, with the new moon occurring on the first day of the month and the full moon on the 15th. So the date isn't inherently unlucky--unless you owed someone money, as that was the day the Romans settled their debts.

If all else fails, the luck of the Irish comes to the rescue two days later, on St. Patrick's Day.

Erin go bragh! (Ireland forever!)

Mine vs. Theirs

Hello there! Spring has sprung in Northern Colorado, which means the weather swings wildly between winter and summer and every day seems to be windy. I'm starting to think about my garden, but conventional wisdom advises against planting before the second Sunday in May (Mother's Day), as we might still have freezing temperatures and/or a foot of snow.

My Chinese Lantern sprouts are holding their own...kind of. It's too cold to put them outside, and although my kitchen is pretty sunny, it's not quite the same. So they're looking a little wimpy:

In the mean time, I came across an online plant supplier that actually sells Chinese Lanterns. So I ordered one. You know, as a Plan B of sorts. And here it is:

Hmmm. It really puts my little seedlings to shame, doesn't it? If I were to plant them as is, we all know which one we'd bet on. Yep, the one formerly known as Plan B.

This has got me thinking about how comparing our efforts to someone else's can make us feel lousy. Am I a professional seed sprouter or plant propagator? I am not. Did I do the best with what I had? I did. Is there always going to be someone else who is bigger/better/more successful than I? Why, yes. Yes there is. 

We tell kids all the time, "just do your best." But adults also need to remember that it's better to make a good effort, even if the end result isn't what you'd hoped, than do nothing. At least you tried and maybe even learned something in the process. 

I'm not giving up on my sprouts, but honestly, I'm grateful for the company that grew this plant bigger and better than I could. And I'm looking forward to helping it thrive in my yard once spring arrives for real.

February Seed Update

 Guess what, friends? I have sprouts!

Only three so far, and they're still tiny. But seeing them reminds me that spring will come eventually. And that makes today's weather a little easier to handle.

As we ease into February, I'm also thinking of ways to grow better habits. Google, of course, has hundreds of suggestions, but this one caught my eye:

Plan your day the night before

I don't often do this unless I have an unusually big day ahead. But planning the ordinary days is just as important. It's so easy for me to lose a sense of accountability when the daily stakes feel small. So, planning my day the night before is my #GrowGoal for February!

Have a wonderful week, and thanks for all good the seed-sprouting vibes!

 

Writer Word of the Year 2022

Happy New Year! I hope you've all made it to the first Wednesday in January in good shape and are getting a feel for what you might want to accomplish this year. (Or maybe you don't want to accomplish anything other than just living your life, and believe me, no judgment here.)

My word for 2021 was Discipline, and as I've admitted, it was not a good choice. Patience would have been better. Or acceptance. Grace. I thought discipline might motivate me, but it turns out I needed a different kind of energy. Less taskmaster, more cloud-gazer.

This year's word, Grow, popped into my head a month or so ago, and it clicked immediately. (To my surprise and delight, my fresh-cut Christmas tree seemed to confirm the choice by unfurling soft baby needles over the past few weeks.) 

I've chosen grow for a few reasons. First of all, I really like to grow things. I love seeds that sprout in a paper cup and plants that tendril gently from their pots. I love the crawl of cacti and the sprint of mint. I love moss and avocado pits and Tillandsia air plants.

Growth can be surprising and unpredictable. Those are good things for writers, especially regarding first drafts, one of which I will be working on this year. Growth can mean getting better at doing something or getting better at not doing something. Growth can be as tiny as an alpine flower or as massive as a coastal redwood. Growth is potential realized.  

Last year at Christmas, my family and I spent some (Covid-safe) time in Arizona. Good friends sent us home with oranges from their tree, and I planted a few of the seeds on New Year's Day 2021. Here's what my little orange grove looks like today. Not astounding growth, but slow and steady. Just like me.

I hope you'll stop by often to see what's growing. Best wishes for health and happiness in the coming year!

Joy Project: Transcendence

Hello! Before we jump into the next chapter of Joyful, I'll continue the theme of the last post by confessing a weird joyful surprise my husband and I share. I don't remember how it started, but we hide this novelty severed finger for each other to find. 

It might show up in a coat pocket or a drawer, usually some place we don't frequently check. I know, it's completely strange, but it cracks me up every time. 

So...

Moving on to the topic of transcendence. Definitions of the verb transcend include to surpass and to go beyond, but for many of us, it also means to rise above. Accordingly, Ingrid Fetell Lee poses the question, "Why is it that our emotions seem to lie along a vertical axis?" Joyous things feel light and uplifting, somber things feel heavy and low. 

The effect can be pronounced when we are physically raised off the ground, as in a treehouse or a skyscraper, but even just looking up can feel transcendent. Hot air balloons, bubbles, and clouds all have a visual lightness that results in a positive emotional payoff. 

Human beings enjoy looking up. So why don't we do it more often? Sadly, as Ingrid points out, we're often looking down at our phones--to the point that walking into obstacles while doing so has become commonplace. And most homes aren't exactly cathedral-like in their dimensions.

Though my house is a modest size, I am lucky to have a few big windows and a high ceiling on the main floor, which impart a feeling of lightness. But my writing space is in the basement, with no window nearby, and I certainly wouldn't mind bringing some transcendence to that area. 

Ingrid suggests low furniture, tall plants, vertical stripes, and long curtains to accentuate the height of a room. Maybe someday I will get creative like that. But for a quick fix, I did two things. I brought in a tall plant, which I conveniently had at my disposal, and swiveled one light fixture on my floor lamp so it points upward. These tweaks took about two minutes, and I'll let you know if they make a difference. 

I hope October is treating you well! See you next time!

 

Fingers crossed that my magic plant helps me
transcend mediocre writing!

Shape of Play Update

In my last post, I mentioned the idea that the most playful shapes for humans-and some other animals, too--are circles and spheres. I haven't done much in the way of decorating tweaks since then, though I really meant to get some round throw pillows. But here are the small, plant-based ways I've added spheres and circles to my life:

Marimo moss balls:

Goldfish plant in a bowl:

Air plant habitat:

String-of-pearls succulent:

And this moss terrarium:

My history of plant care is a little spotty, so it's a good thing these are all fairly low-maintenance. Because the least joyful shape for a plant is, well, dead.

I hope you're having a good week, and I'll see you soon!