A Story About Plants, That’s Not Really About Plants.

A big beautiful canopy of dark green leaves, fragrant pink and white flowers, with strong branches perfect for climbing. Two wooden swings hung from it. The boys would spend hours playing beneath it, and I would spend hours sitting within it. I used to hug its trunk and stay still so I could sway as it swayed in the wind.

It symbolized so much to me. I swore when we moved, we would have another.

So, a few months ago I bought 3 magnolias, one for each of my children, and put each in one of our 3 flower gardens.

I had been busy tending to other parts of the once-wooded garden spaces, when I noticed one of the magnolia’s leaves were browning. Over the next few weeks, and much to my horror, the leaves got browner and crunchier, and eventually, fell off. I checked the Y shaped twig up and down, and up and down again. There were no other signs of life.

While the other two were thriving, it was, quite literally, a stick in the mud.

I went over it in my head. I used all the same tools to dig the hole, the same soil, the same water amount, the same amount of sunlight. I didn’t have a replacement plant for its spot, so instead, I gave it time to sit there. Time to die if it chose, or time to resurrect if it chose.

I was more diligent now, though, than I was with the others. Water twice a day. Monitoring all child and animal traffic around it. I started talking to it. Caressing its little stem. (I know that sounds weird, but I did ).

Every morning and every evening I examined it. I examined the other two. Could I get clues from their behavior to help me know that plant was still there? I waited. And waited. And waited.

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I currently have a child in crisis.

And he is angry and sad and uncomfortable in his own skin. And even though I have given him all of the right soil and water and sunlight, and that combination is working for his siblings, right now he is stuck in the mud. And so, I am checking in on him a little more, listening closer, hugging longer, knowing I just need to wait, for him to bloom when he’s ready. Just like his magnolia.

I showed him yesterday, that I had thought the plant might be dead, but I watered and waited and listened and it’s not. There are small buds forming. I said “it’s a magnolia, do you remember the tree we used to have?”

“Of course I remember! I know what a magnolia is! That’s what our tree was!” he said as his jaw dropped in amazement. He got a little sparkle in his eye, one that has been returning more and more often as he works through his hurt, and I standby as witness.

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All Plants Were Not Created the Same

We try to love all our plants the same, but the truth is plants all need different amounts of water and sunlight, they need different soils. Some are more finicky than others, and some take longer to bloom. It does not mean we love a certain plant more when we have to give it a little extra. Giving each what they need, when they need it, is the key to a happy garden.

And knowing that plants will be plants, all we can do is stand as a partner next to them and witness for them their power and beauty and strength, providing a little nurturing along the way.