Week 48 - Spring in and around Milan

 Edited BY

G P Kennedy

Ellie - Milan, Italy

 

 Spring is already here. It has been here for a few weeks, actually. And its lessons, delivered by nature around me, made me think of how to read and then apply their wisdom to life. 

 

 So I decided to try to find out what advice they have for me; what life mottos and messages I need to accept.

 

Pain behind Beauty

 People gasp with admiration for these plants. They are succulents that survive low temperatures. But they do that at the price of getting this red flaming color. 

 

 I have a bunch of them in the yard and a pot of them under a balcony. So, interesting enough, only the exposed bunch that withstood winter in the open got their red. Their color is a reaction to suffering. 

 

 And yes, this is the word that is used in Italian - plants suffer. When one admires a beautiful one it's worth asking if that beauty was caused by pain.

 

Patience

 Last summer, I tried to make a new succulent plant from a leaf of my favorite purple sedum. It didn't work. The leave stayed dormant all summer. 

 

 And there were many moments when I thought about throwing it out because maybe I wanted to use the violet pot or it just takes too much space and care. 

 

 But because the leaf never died, always stayed supple, I gave it a chance. And recently, new growth finally emerged. It promises to be gorgeous. It is definitely worth tending to for almost 9 months. Almost the same as what takes for a baby to be born.

 

Resourcefulness

 In my choice of plants for my windowsill garden, I prefer gifted cutting or wild finds. Last year, exactly a year ago, I found some small strings that were clinging to the rock where I was having a rest during my bike ride. 

 

 I took a few of those strings, which turned out to be a very common wild succulent grass. Last year, they were only four of those pieces. Now, they have covered the box where I placed them. 

 

 Do you see their strategy? They grow up, but then they also have tiny roots ready. When they reach a surface to cling to, the tendrils take hold. And the string grows. 

 

 I need to remember to do the same: go up, but keep the tendrils ready.

Courage to change course

 The way prickly pear survives is through growth in its most vulnerable place, groups of spines covering the surface of its leaves.

What you see as its weapon is in reality where the new extension emerges. 

 

 But sometimes a change in conditions - maybe harsh weather in the last few days, maybe being shaken or maybe even having another growth elsewhere that saps the resources - the tiny protrusion flattens and goes back in. It changes its mind. 

 

 And it may reemerge in the same spot next year. Or not.

 

Sincerity of vulnerability 

 This tree, located on a supermarket parking lot, has a weird growth on the northern side. 

 

 I have no idea why this happened, but perhaps it was the strength of the wind, moss, and lack of light on that side.

While this growth is unsightly, I appreciate its sincerity in making pain visible. 

 

Hope

 I have never grown a geranium from a cutting but this past winter, the geraniums that spent the coldest days on the windowsill fell on the ground.

Swept by strong winds. The branches were almost all broken. 

 

 So I had to take a drastic step and cut it almost to the root, then use the broken branches to make cuttings. I was almost sure it would fail, that would lose the plant. 

 

 But why are we always willing to be sure of failure? A miracle happened and my cuttings started to sprout. Without me doing anything special, I got a clean slate and will have geraniums this coming summer. 

 

 Thank you, nature!