When I lived in Germany eighteen years ago a friend gave me
a magnet that says, “bloom where you're planted”. Since then that magnet has
hung on fridges in eight different homes. In each place I know I’ve blossomed
and I hope at the same time I’ve planted seeds that helped someone else blossom
too.
Six weeks ago I started taking a permaculture class, some
call it urban homesteading, with my friend MJ. My purpose was twofold – to see
in action and learn better how to create the vision I have for my two acre
property and to become better friends
with a woman I greatly admire. Both those points were accomplished, but little
did I know when the class started what all would transpire over those few
weeks.
Midway through the course Mr. W and I got word his job was
transferring him to a new city. This move would take me from the Pacific
Northwest to the high desert, a climate I am physically and socially unfamiliar
with. I will be living in suburbia possibly on a lot as large as a half acre
which though big by suburban standards is much smaller than my current
environment. As each class unfolded I learned topics I could apply to my yet
unselected new home: water catchment systems (which will be very necessary in
the new place), bee and animal keeping on small lots, strategies for working
with close neighbors and more. We explored our instructors lot, every inch
bursting with something useful or beautiful or both. I know my new home will be
a fairly generic suburban lot, but I can envision the space transformed.
I could be overwhelmed, being transplanted again, but
instead I am calm. Putting down roots doesn’t have to happen overnight. As our
instructor said when she the look of dismay on some of the students faces, “you
don’t need to transform your space all at once. Pick a small patch of lawn to
remove, plant a few things then later expand it a bit. Piece by piece a lot can
be changed.”
The last night of class I took pictures of the instructor’s
property. The last spot I photographed was a somewhat triangular shaped bed,
running about six feet on two sides with a curvy hypotenuse. The straight sides
lined a public side walk and the driveway. The bed is filled with artichoke,
germanium, some rhubarb, an apple tree and several other plants.
“I can do that,” I said to MJ as we looked over this bed.
“In my new place, I can start with a useful corner.”
She smiled. “I like that, a useful corner.”
I fingered a leaf and breathed slow and deep because I know
it is true, one can bloom wherever you are planted.
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| a useful corner |
