Ten years ago I bought a rhubarb plant for the manly motorcycle man. Through stories, I had learned eating rhubarb right out of the garden was one of his family traditions. I didn't expect, or require, that he would water it, weed around it, or do much of anything, besides eat its tangy stalks. No worries. And slowly, eating rhubarb is becoming a tradition for our own children.
Slowly, because during those first few years, there were few stalks big enough to eat. I watered and fertilized, but surprised the plant wasn't doing better, consulted my aunt whose rhubarb plant rivals any downtown building. "Are you composting?" she asked.
"No."
"Try that. They like cantaloupe compost."
No worries, there is a lot of cantaloupe in our compost. And it helped a bit, but still the plant didn't spring back from the abyss of limping along.
"Does it get enough sun?" she offered again.
"I thought it was..." So I moved it to an even sunnier location. The next year, even though the stalks were more plentiful, and hoops and hollers of delight went up, they were still scrawny. Then for the next two years... not much of anything.
This spring I decided it was do or die, something had to be done. But I was nervous. I bought this plant for the man the year we got married. If I killed it, would it be a sign? Should I just leave well enough alone and limp through another unproductive season? For a week I stewed. Finally I said, "I'm going to move your rhubarb. It's not doing well where it is. He said, "Fine." What else would he say? "No, I like watching it wither year after year by the driveway..."
I prepared a new spot, rich with compost, in a very sunny part of yard. I dug up what I had preceived as the symbol of our marriage, replanted, and watered it. The deed was done. Except for the watering and fertilizing on my part, it was up to the plant. That night when I went out to check on it, it was all wilted over. Panicked, I watered it more. Hoping it would recover.
The next morning it had perked up a bit, but I noticed that most of its leaves were turning yellow. I watered it again. Thinking for sure it was over. Daily, I watched as the leaves, one by one, yellowed, shrivelled up and died. Still I watered, and added compost. Finally, about a week later I noticed a new leaf peeking out of the soil. Was it possible? Would this plant live after all?
And now a month later, dressed in brand new bigger than ever leaves, the rhubarb is looking wonderful. And I find myself closing the parallel I had drawn between plant and life. Saying, when you've given life your best shot, and still there is no growth. It might be time to move on. It won't be easy. You risk losing all your leaves, or worse. But with a little faith, hope, love and watering, all things can be new again.
Slowly, because during those first few years, there were few stalks big enough to eat. I watered and fertilized, but surprised the plant wasn't doing better, consulted my aunt whose rhubarb plant rivals any downtown building. "Are you composting?" she asked.
"No."
"Try that. They like cantaloupe compost."
No worries, there is a lot of cantaloupe in our compost. And it helped a bit, but still the plant didn't spring back from the abyss of limping along.
"Does it get enough sun?" she offered again.
"I thought it was..." So I moved it to an even sunnier location. The next year, even though the stalks were more plentiful, and hoops and hollers of delight went up, they were still scrawny. Then for the next two years... not much of anything.
This spring I decided it was do or die, something had to be done. But I was nervous. I bought this plant for the man the year we got married. If I killed it, would it be a sign? Should I just leave well enough alone and limp through another unproductive season? For a week I stewed. Finally I said, "I'm going to move your rhubarb. It's not doing well where it is. He said, "Fine." What else would he say? "No, I like watching it wither year after year by the driveway..."
I prepared a new spot, rich with compost, in a very sunny part of yard. I dug up what I had preceived as the symbol of our marriage, replanted, and watered it. The deed was done. Except for the watering and fertilizing on my part, it was up to the plant. That night when I went out to check on it, it was all wilted over. Panicked, I watered it more. Hoping it would recover.
The next morning it had perked up a bit, but I noticed that most of its leaves were turning yellow. I watered it again. Thinking for sure it was over. Daily, I watched as the leaves, one by one, yellowed, shrivelled up and died. Still I watered, and added compost. Finally, about a week later I noticed a new leaf peeking out of the soil. Was it possible? Would this plant live after all?
And now a month later, dressed in brand new bigger than ever leaves, the rhubarb is looking wonderful. And I find myself closing the parallel I had drawn between plant and life. Saying, when you've given life your best shot, and still there is no growth. It might be time to move on. It won't be easy. You risk losing all your leaves, or worse. But with a little faith, hope, love and watering, all things can be new again.
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