I, Ramona Richards, am an idiot about plants. While I love flowers, especially the kind that pop up in early spring--daffodils, crocuses, etc.--I have an exquisitely brown thumb. I should probably start a support group for others like me, who try to stay away from plants so they can go on thriving.
I have a friend who is a master gardener, and I frequently call her to say, “Why is the plant in the orange pot dying?” She can usually help me nurse the droopy leaves back to health. But not always.
When I moved in to my home three years ago, I found an empty trellis in the backyard. Clearing away the mulch, I found three little stobs at its base, and I asked my friend if I should dig them up. They certainly looked dead. Her advice? “It’s only February. Just wait.”
In early April, I found a skinny little vine on the ground, and she told me to wind it up the trellis and wait. So I sighed and waited.
You know what’s coming, don’t you. By May, my little trellis had exploded with beauty. A clematis vine had turned a dreary little back patio into a spot of cheer. My three little "dead" stobs had turned into a riot of green leaves and purple flowers.
For a creative spirit, winter can come at any time, and I’ve been trudging through a nasty one. For some time, I’ve been waiting, praying, and looking for those small signs of hope. Over the past few days, the rewards have arrived in bundles and spurts, much like my clematis vine.
Much of it has been about my May release, The Taking of Carly Bradford, but it’s gone much further than that. I’ve received more encouragement than I deserve, and I hope to turn that into productivity.
In the meantime, I patiently peer every day out the back window. I have this urge to see purple.