planting day

This was written in June, 2017.

Planting Day is one of my favorite days of the year.  It’s not found on any calendar other than my own.  This past winter when a late snow storm knocked over our backyard fence, my first words to my husband were “That has to be fixed by Planting Day.”  I didn’t care how it got rebuilt or who did it, but by golly come Planting Day, dahlias were going into the ground and woe to anyone who disturbed them.  After 23 years of marriage, my beloved knows how deeply serious about this I am.


Planting Day is both the culmination and the beginning.  One might say the Omega and the Alpha.  In late January, the dahlia catalog arrives in the mail and thus begins several reflective weeks of pouring over lovely photos of all the dahlia possibilities.  Over the past few years, in an effort to de-materialize my life, I have conquered my catalog compulsion.  Scads of catalogs arrive each week full of alluring pictures of things I certainly don’t need but wouldn’t mind having.  Cute outfits, handy kitchen gadgets, decorative trinkets abound.  They don’t enhance my life and carry some weight of guilt so I have taken to walking them from the mailbox to the recycle bin in one smooth motion.  The dahlia catalog however, is exempt because growing dahlias is an almost holy experience.


After a few weeks of gazing, the selection process begins.  Being someone who fancies herself laid back but is secretly delighted by order and symmetry, I start sorting the flowers by color and size (dinner plate size AA  to  2 inch pom pons) lest I end up with a yard full of yellow size B plants (boring) or worse yet, too much variety.  What follows is the first list which is culled to a second and then a final list.  The order is placed, the delivery date noted.  Then, the green garden binder comes out and the pictures of each individual flower are cut out and glued in.  Lastly, I draw a map of the backyard and, using the pictures as a guide, lay out where they are to be planted. 


Dahlia Arrival Day is a great day but it comes about four weeks before Planting Day can safely happen so the box of goodness hangs out in the garage for a bit.  Ideally, Planting Day coincides with Mother’s Day which is a beautiful notion.  In pregnancy, a seed was planted  where it grew for months until it emerged as a fabulous human being.   I had to (patiently) tend to its care all the while having faith in the success of the endeavor.  Realistically, Planting Day has to wait until a week later.  Not all metaphors work.


When this auspicious day arrives, the brown turd-like tubers are lovingly and gently planted.  A little sign marker is inserted near the hole and a wire support cage is plunked in lest an errant boy mows over a baby plant.  


After this, it is all water, sunshine and faith.  I check the ground every few days until a tiny green leaf pokes through.  It never stops being a miracle.  How does that ugly tuber know what to do?  How can such a fragile thing as a leaf push through several inches of hard earth to emerge?  I welcome each shoot and throughout the summer care for them.  They grow remarkably fast, getting from four to six feet tall.  In late August come the flowers which bloom through mid October.  They are nothing short of glorious.  Flowers are a constant reminder of how amazing God is.  I am convinced that no human being could ever create something as resplendent as a flower.  One may try, but in a contest God will win every time. 


So I appreciate my dahlias.  They are generous plants.  My windowsill overflows with them in a variety of sizes and colors (an ordered variety thanks to winter planning).  I give them to friends.  I take them to work.  They are an unending source of beauty.


I think this gives me a tiny glimpse into God’s experience of us.  Thanks to his genius, two microscopic cells come together and after time, food and a whole lot of love grow into an adult human being about four to six feet tall.  And while we can scientifically show all the wondrous phases this creature goes through from beginning to maturity, we cannot replicate it.  We cannot create life.  Only God can.  We can participate in it.  We can nurture it. But only the God of the Universe can create it.  This makes it even more special.  Every life, from the humble dandelion to the Virgin Mary, was created intentionally by God.  Every life.  Mine.  Yours.  The dude on the corner who asks for money.  The best friend who laughs at all your jokes.  Like flowers each person is unique and beautiful and needs love to thrive.


And just as those ugly tubers become something breathtaking, our sinful selves become something beautiful thanks to the love of God.  He knows we are awful sometimes but he keeps loving us and feeding us and if we let him, makes us exquisite.  I bet, that to God, we are an unending source of beauty.


So the fence is rebuilt and the dahlias planted.  They are several inches high and I anticipate an abundant crop this year.  I am thankful God created flowers and allows us to participate in their growth as well as the growth of our fellow humans.  He is so good.