with room to grow

the most patience for the smallest seeds

spring field notes

It’s mid-March and the forsythia shrubs around here are already a sea of bright yellow. The first bright pink azaleas next to the Retreat House are open, and I actually heard a bee buzzing when I walked past.

Roses are pruned and transplanted to the Flower Barn garden for (hopefully) more winter protection from deer. Normally pruning and transplanting need to be done when roses are dormant, and at this point, they should be.

But I was in shorts and a t-shirt, and the roses had already started emerging with new growth. I pruned them back a lot, so hopefully they’ll still establish strong roots.

The peach blooms are early too. Yet there’s snow and freezing temperatures in the 10 day forecast. Do we really have 6 weeks to go until our last frost?

Where am I? While the warm weather feels refreshing, it’s also disorienting and concerning. March feels like May, and planting things feels like the most important thing to do for all of it.

on sowing seeds

The grow table lights are officially on, and the first seeds are in their trays. They must be some of the daintiest and tiniest of all, Snapdragons.

I can hardly see if I’m placing one seed or five, but when I reach the end of the packet, I know some of my blocks have probably received more than enough. In this process, I’m reminded distinctly that the smallest seeds invite the most patience.

Move slowly. No rushing here. And… the smallest, slowest, most careful act will indeed expand.

In this case, a mere 10 x 20 seed tray grows into a substantial section of the flower garden when planted out. Two months from now, so much will have changed inside this tray. Seeds finding their way through shells cracked open.

Then there’s Yarrow. A new variety of white, to accompany the pastels and bright yellow. These seeds aren’t nearly as tiny, but I’m now into ‘slow-sowing-seeds’ mode so the placement is that much more precise.

I’m not sure precision is really the word for sowing seeds though. It’s more like practice and patience, with room to grow.

Hellebores opening, March 2024

Hellebores soaked in rain

Azalea budding

Daffodils emerging

Azalea

Rhododendron

Dried floral wreath with Yarrow, Oregano, Larkspur

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Are you sowing any seeds (literally or metaphorically)? Feel free to comment below.

Sending beauty and patience as we grow,

P.S. Sharing a list here of spring season entries from the the natyrë journal archives:

welcoming spring: pruning for beauty to bloom

noticing beauty in our midst: a meditative journey from winter to spring

calling in spring from within: water melting into earth

on the edge of something new: spring equinox, first blooms, pruning

calling in your story of emergence: seeds of reciprocity

dandelion: the exhale of emergence

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