Welcome to Our New Neighborhood Where the Resiliency of Life is All Around
Just past our soon-to-be neighbor’s house, up at the top of Hill Street in Montpelier, Vermont, the pavement ends and the dirt road starts, as do the cattle crossing signs, which is appropriate, because actual cattle crossing the road are not uncommon. We have yet to meet the cattle rancher, but, judging by the nature and condition of his/her cows, we expect they are pretty cool folks. The bovine are friendly, healthy and hearty, with a huge expanse of natural grass upon which to graze. Their lives seem peaceful, tranquil, even, surrounded by nature. They are but one of the countless examples of domestic and wild life that surround us these days as we ponder the resiliency of life itself.
Still living in our temporary apartment as we move into the final phase of construction of our new home, the garden we have is mostly in pots in our windows or on the front porch. Yet, even this small bit of growing can continually remind us of how precious and delicate yet also shockingly tough and durable nature can be.
Sitting in our kitchen window, rising up out of a shallow dish of water, is a brand new freshly sprouted stalk of celery. It is emerging from the stump of the parent plant, that had been grown and harvested somewhere else in the world (we presume, because we purchased it at the beginning of spring in Vermont). Prior to coming to our house, the original plant had been chopped, stripped of its leaves, cleaned, bagged and shipped to our town, where it sat for who knows how long in the produce department of our local co-op. Then, we purchased it and put it in our refrigerator before, eventually, deciding to use it. Because it had gotten a bit wilted, we used it in soup and jambalaya. In spite of all of that, the plant was still alive. The proof is in the beautiful new celery plant growing in our kitchen.
Meanwhile, out on the front porch in pots we have dozens of Burr Oak seedlings growing leaves after a remarkable jouney from Minnesota to Palm Springs, California, then back to Minnesota, and finally to Vermont. After having been overwintered as acorns in our fridge, getting severely infested with gnats as new sprouts, having nearly drowned a couple of times, and then (remarkably) surviving their first winter in the ground, they are growing their first leaves and are looking GREAT. (Learn more about the story of these special seedlings here.)
These and other things have us thinking a lot about the resiliency and adaptability of life and the parallels these newly emerging plants have to our own lives. We have, after all, gone through our own bit of a dormancy period, after selling our home in Minneapolis to build our new dream home here in Vermont. A year and a half ago, most all of our worldly possessions were sold or donated, or went into storage and our lives contracted. We have lived a minimalist lifestyle ever since, living in tiny and temporary places.
This spring, as we watch the surge in growth in these previously dormant plants, we can’t help but feel a common spirit with them, because our new lives are budding here, too. Our new home is nearly complete. The well for our new property has been drilled. The modular home we built is finished and awaiting delivery. And our foundation for the new home is nearly ready for the home’s delivery.
We can’t help but feel that, if we were plants, we would be getting ready to bloom after a dormant winter. We also can’t help but to think about our nation, planet and democracy itself and the challenges they are facing these days. One thing we know for certain is that if we continue to care for all of these things, they can and will not only survive the challenge, they can rebound anew, and thrive.