The darling buds

When I went out at lunchtime, I noticed the trees are now bearing fresh, new green leaves.  It seems that Spring is here at last- funny how it seems to happen overnight. I love this time of year; the light is lengthening and it seems like we are tipping into something brighter. Coming out of the inexpressibly dark winter into summer always feels like a great burden lifting.

We went to a big out-of-town garden centre over the weekend, and I bought a few new plants. Actually, I find garden centres like this one a bit overwhelming.  So many green things, so little time. I walk around with my eyes bugging and my tongue hanging out with greed. And I always want to buy hugely impractical items- look, a magnolia tree!  A gigantic box shrub! A couple of evergreens!  But then I look at the price tags, shuddering; or else E. talks me out of it.  Quite sensible really, since I have now basically run out of space in my tiny alloted garden area, and besides, I don't think the magnolias would like it here.

When we moved to this flat a couple of years ago, one of the first plants I bought was a little standard bay tree. That green lollipop head cost a fair bit of money and I was fairly sure I would manage to kill it quickly, but it was just so cute and shapely that I felt I had to have it. It suggested an established garden, permanence, security. Long term love and patience. Even though really, the garden people had honed it into that shape, and were now gouging my pocketbook as penance for my topiary aspirations.

In any event, I took great pleasure in it, and it did well for a season.  Then in a fit of stupidity, I brought the bay inside into an overheated room during a fierce cold snap. In a short of space of time, it picked up some sort of horrible leaf cooties, and slowly, slowly, it began to wither. The leaves turned brown and curled up. No new buds would bloom. I bought fungus spray, I fretted over it, googled for solutions, talked to it, cajoled it all last summer.  Live, little bay tree, live.  It was unresponsive. 

When the IVF failed last summer, I went out and sullenly kicked the base of the large earthen pot in which the bay tree resides. Everything dies on me, I thought. I looked at the bay tree, and it looked back, and I could see was withering, inside and out.

It was my intention last weekend to uproot what I thought was the dead tree, give it a proper burial and at last use the very nice pot for something else.  But when I bent down to look at it, I noticed something interesting.  Buds. Little buds, lots of buds.  It's early days, of course, and it may still succumb to whatever nasty thing that has killed all the other leaves.  But for the first time in a long time, my heart surged with something like...hope.      

During moments like that, I suddenly believe I am going to be OK.  On days like that; when the light comes surging over the water and dazzling into my eyes, when I hold up the watering can, dig my hands into the soil, catch the bit of a new season in my mouth- I believe that I might be over the worst. It suddenly seems like I have broken the back of this pain, at least while the sun shines.

And I think that maybe there is still something left to hope for after all; and that being able to feel that small tendril of hope is a sign that finally, I am on my way.

Comments

[DD]

Would you find me stupid if I just said "thank you" for this post?

[patricia]

Thank God for those moments. Over the last year I've had more of those moments, which is why the smack downs catch me more off guard now. I used to expect them, now I forget, and then - WHAM.

I hope that doesn't sound too negative. It's just taken me longer than I thought it would, but getting to more bright days than gray days (mentally speaking), is a huge step.

[Mellie]

Oh Mare, you make me all teary.

I so hope the sun continues to shine.

[Amyesq]

Hope. Thank you. I needed to hear that. Talk to you soon.

[SheilaC]

How beautiful. I hope your little tree thrives. I hope your spirit is renewed, and that you may experience hope and new growth, wherever your path may lead you.
Best wishes,

[Golden]

Dear Mare
I am also an American resident in the UK - although in the north of England, rather than in Scotland.

Spring has been a long time coming this year, and I share your joy in the green shoots and daffodils.

On a purely practical note, I think the 'leaf cooties' are red spider mites. (I had similar problems with a bay tree that I also mistakenly brought inside.) Sprays help a bit, but by far the best thing is to keep it outside and hope for the best. Also feed it occasionally as it starts to pick up.

Best wishes,

[-Blue]

What a beutiful post.

I have had the same thing happen - I'm a huge plant person as well, often taking on more than I can handle *sigh*. But I've had something go tits up, then, as I was about to toss it, see wee green signs of life.

It's a wonderful feeling.

-Blue

[Pamplemousse]

Aaah, the garden centre! Sometimes it is worse than the shoe shop for temptation. I have had to ban myself from buying any new plants as I have a huge collection of fancies in the greenhouse that I am reluctant to plant outside in case the rabbits eat them. Some of them are like 3 years old now and I need to just chuck them out and plant in the garden and let them do or die.

[ink]

Oddly, I had exactly the same experience a couple of months ago with a Reiger Begonia I found frozen in the parking lot of a local shopping centre (the full story's available in my Feb. 17th entry, if you're interested).

That unyeilding determination to survive, to live and thrive if at all possible, is magnificent gift -- whenever it appears. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed for your bay tree!

[Truly Tested]

Dear Mare
I hear you. I recently got some encouraging news (finally) and I have what I would call a glimmer of hope that I am trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) to embrace. It does feel connected to Spring being in the air...

The other day, I saw a friend of a friend who I know is pregnant. She had the decency to not even reference it during our dinner. And because of this, I made myself bring it up and congratulate her and give her a hug. And I can honestly say that I was actually happy for her. I thought to myself that this must mean that I have gotten stronger and somewhat moved on. And yet when I consider various options like DE, known or unknown, and having a child not genetically linked to me, I feel I have progressed absolutely nowhere since this nightmare first reared its head almost 2 years ago. Like my levels (until recently), I have not budged. And I don't think it's just because I'm stubborn but instead because of how strongly I feel.

[Ellen K.]

Lovely post. Spring comes early to my part of the U.S., and in the past month I've spent a lot of time outside, watching my garden and trees (including a magnolia!) begin anew. It's incredibly soothing, and a good way for my husband and I to reconnect after a long winter of not-so-good news on the fertility front.

[thalia]

We're a bit ahead of you here, but I relate. I manage to kill plants constantly inside, but outside I've done pretty well at creating lovely gardens. It's been the one thing I have been able to nurture. I'm glad it's working for you too. The green shoots of recovery.

[Meg]

Lovely post. I love gardening and it has got me through a lot of bad times. My garden can't possibly fit anything else in it, but I'm currently looking at a rose catalouge and trying to work out how to add more to my garden.

[Menita]

A little sunshine is a powerful thing. May you continue to have it.

[Jill]

It's amazing, the connection between nature and our emotions. May you continue to have hope.

[Georgia]

Thank you for a lovely post.
It was the rain lilies that shot up without warning last summer that turned things around for me. Such an unexpected surprise.

[Melissa]

Wonderful post. You write so beautifully, are you or have you thought about writing professionally?

[CampBeth]

Did we hear that you were a victim of the trainwrecks? Everything you ever wanted to know about the trainwreck bitches can be found here:
http://www.wreckorama.blogspot.com

[wills]

The darling buds of, uh, April? Sounds vaguely familiar somehow.

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