Of Buds and Roots

The post shared with permission by Alyssa Davis Of Brick House Acres. Post originally published Alyssa Davis to Brickhouseacres.com blog in April 2024.

Of Buds and Roots…

It’s mid-April. Drizzling rain and cold wind send a shiver down my spine as I run from the house to the greenhouse.

It’s been a rough morning and this weather is not helping my mood.

I dash into the greenhouse and quickly close the door. It’s warm inside. The heaters are running and the sight of happy green seedlings lift my spirits. Some geranium cuttings I planted a few weeks ago catch my eye. They’re sending up clusters of buds. They want so much to bloom.

I stand in awe at the little plants’ enthusiasm to bring beauty to the world.

But as much as I want to see those blooms, I know they must grow bigger root systems before pouring their strength into flowering. I reach down and snap off a bloom stalk, then another…

“Why?” the little plants seem to say. “Why have you taken our beauty? Why have you left us barren?”

I quietly whisper, “It’s not time yet.” then pause to look at the buds in my hand.

A wave of sadness sweeps over me...

These buds will never bloom. It feels cruel to take them away.

Feelings of inadequacy and discouragement bubble up, reminding me of the many times I felt my dreams plucked away.

Why is life so hard? It seems something goes wrong every time I start to get ahead. Why do I even try…

Then a kinder, wiser voice comes from within. “You can’t choose what happens in life, but you always have a choice.”

Growth happens outside our comfort zone. Something must happen to wake us up or change our current direction, just as stopping growth in one area allows a plant to focus on areas that need growth the most.

Setbacks don’t mean I’m incapable or unworthy. They help shift my focus to things that matter most. Problems and difficulties can knock me down or help me grow stronger. The choice to grow is mine alone.

When life sends a curveball, I can choose to sulk or grow.

I’m learning to turn inward and upward. To be patient with myself and content with the small progress I make each day.

The time is not yet. I need to stop trying to bloom long enough to grow roots.

Growth takes time and effort. I must trust the process.

I set the stems in the compost bucket with quiet reverence, say a quick prayer of gratitude for a lesson learned, then turn back to my greenhouse chores. Plucked buds break down to feed future flowers.

The geranium plants will be covered in large resplendent blooms in a month. But for the next few weeks, as the little plants sit green and flowerless, I know they are growing roots.