Here comes the winterizing of the yard.
Do we empty the big ceramic pots of their soil, turn them upside-down, and let them weather the soon-coming arctic blasts outside? Or, do we empty them and lug them into the pool house to spend their winter there? Husband suggests a third possibility: maybe we leave them outside just as they are but cover them in plastic.
Uncertain, I toss a fourth choice into the mix. “How about we bring them into the house, and I’ll try to keep their flowers alive all winter?”
“It’s worth a shot,” Husband says.
This is a lot of work I see now. Husband and I consider heaving them inside by hand. But I picture strained backs and blackened toenails and say as much. He rolls the wheelbarrow out of the garage, and my jaw slackens; it’s like he invented the handy implement. Why didn’t I think of it?
We make multiple trips picking up and delivering pots into the house via the sliding glass door on the lower level. I position the glazed beauties near the glass, hoping for enough light to nourish their still-hanging-on plants.
I assess the struggling growth. At some point in early August, I lost interest in them, my neglect showing in their dead parts. But there’s green there too; hope springs eternal, after all. I can resurrect them, can’t I?
I think of the famous scientific experiments done on plants in three rooms. Harsh words are spoken to the ones in the first room, kind words in the second, and silence in the third. In time, the results are evident; the plants sprinkled with kindness grow more.
Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit.
I resolve to do better. In fact, I’ll do a winterful of better.
“Oh, you’re cute,” I say to the spindly lantana and his neighbor, the wave petunia, as I start my habit and water them. “You’re so healthy too. Good job.”
Come spring, we’ll see.
*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.