Late-Blooming Roses ~ Accepting Joy as it Appears

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My rose bushes disappointed this year. I waited all summer for them to explode into a riotous celebration of yellow, but they never did. I watered them, fed them, sprayed them, pruned them, and pleaded with them, but throughout the hot dry summer, they only produced a few wimpy flowers.

By summer’s end I’d stopped paying attention to the leggy bushes and never even got around to cutting them back this fall. Halloween came and went, and the calendar turned to November. Imagine my surprise when, without any help or encouragement from me, the bushes suddenly produced a bounty of beautiful yellow roses!

At first, I admit to being slightly annoyed. “Oh, great, now you decide to bloom.” And then it dawned on me those roses might be teaching me a few things. Stop trying so hard. Good things take time. You’re not in control. Beauty is spontaneous. Stay present. Be open to joy whenever it appears.

I rejoiced in the late-blooming roses for a couple of weeks as I watched an abundance of sweet yellow buds slowly unfurl into big silky soft flowers. The prolific rose bushes looked so odd surrounded by bare trees and covered in crispy brown leaves. Alas, it seemed our unusually warm weather had come to an end, and with a forecast of snow flurries, I cut the roses and took them inside.

As any flower-lover knows, the process of arranging them is part of the delight. I set the roses by the kitchen sink, carefully removed excess leaves, and delicately cut each stem to the right height. It was a ritual I performed slowly and mindfully, knowing it would be the last time for many months.  As I placed the roses in vases of water, I couldn’t help but thank them and apologize for my impatience, my pushiness, and my lack of faith.

I ceremoniously set a vase in the living room where a shaft of autumn light came through the window. My curious kitten hopped on the table and pressed his heart-shaped nose into the yellow flowers. “Yes, Mr. Darcy, you’re right. Stop and smell the roses, especially when you least expect them.” §

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“The earth laughs in flowers.”
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Starting the Year on the Right Foot

When I signed us up for the First Day Hike, it sounded like an exhilarating way to begin the new year in the peace and quiet of Brown County State Park, but the experience proved to be more challenging and eye-opening than expected.

When Mike and I reached the trailhead where the New Year’s Day trek began, we were surprised to be joined by more than 200 hikers. There were loud hikers. Pushy hikers. Slow hikers. Hikers on cell phones. Hikers with unruly yapping dogs and children. So many children.

I looked at my husband like a deer in the headlights. “This might be the hardest two-mile hike I’ve ever been on,” I whispered unnecessarily, as he knew exactly what I was thinking. We almost bailed on the First Day Hike before it even began, but I felt it might be a test, not of my endurance, but of my tolerance.

I used to have a wealth of patience. When I was a teacher and mom to young children, patience was my superpower. For more than 25 years, I willingly trapped myself in a small square room with more than a hundred middle schoolers a day. Although I’ve always enjoyed time alone, I loved interacting with students, co-workers, neighbors, family, friends, and even strangers.

Now I’m retired and live in the boonies. I go days without talking to anyone save my easy-going husband and the forest critters. If not for the necessary task of grocery shopping, I would happily remain in the woods like a hermit. I’ve admittedly become a tad intolerant of my fellow man.

We fell into line with the army of hikers who snaked single-file through the hills of Brown County at a steady comfortable pace. I noticed how nature worked its magic to cast a spell of courtesy and civility over the group. While navigating the rugged trail covered in wet leaves and squishy mud, we chatted quietly, as hikers often do, about the weather, foliage and fauna, wildlife, and other favorite hiking spots.

I talked at length with a loquacious teenage boy whose mother seemed to welcome the break. I discovered one of the hikers was from the same small Illinois town as my dad. I petted a cute scruffy dog whose owner had come to the event alone with her rescued pup.

Our First Day Hike was over before we knew it. We said goodbye to our new friends and wished each other a happy new year. Hiking is often a chance for solitude in the great outdoors, but our walk in the woods with 200 other nature-lovers gave me a feeling of community and comradery I didn’t realize was missing from my life.

My new year got off on the right foot with a burst of energy, an appreciation for nature, and most surprisingly, a reminder to have a gracious and open heart towards all of the people I meet on my path along the way.