Spring planting is my favorite time of the year. Along with a dozen or so flower pots, I have an annual bed that is home to about 150 plants each summer. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than picking the color of the year (2019 is white and yellow with a splash of orangey-yellow); designing the bed for color, height, and foliage; and getting my hands dirty planting them.
It”s true that my back, quads, and glutes hurt from duck-walking for hours on end, but that is irrelevant when you sit back and see the finished product.
It’s also true that I inevitably end up with rogue flowers. Oodles of them. These volunteer blooms decide on their own that they want to be a part of the layout whether I planned for them or not. So, my perfectly yellow and white garden will host a spray of pink from yesteryear. It’s also home to a clump of iris that have quietly crept up from the perennial bed and inserted itself as an end cap for my annuals. My stairs will fill in with delicate purple pansies regardless of the fact that I haven’t planted them since the purple year.
Despite the color chaos they bring, nothing makes me happier than seeing these volunteer flowers eking out an existence when they were’t supposed to. Their resilience and aptitude for growing unexpectedly and quite beautifully is one of nature’s gifts.
I suspect that’s why I went to school for psychology. Humans are equally resilient, chaotic, and beautiful. They thrive despite their oft times hostile environment. They spice up a homogeneous time and space with a uniqueness all their own. And our lives are richer for the variety.
Rogue flowers make my heart smile. So do humans. Librarianship is much the same as gardening. We both go out of our way to cultivate a richer world–whether people, books, or blooms.
happy reading~ jody
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