The Forsythia on the Corner
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The forsythia opens her yellow blossoms in the sun, as she has every March since the day I brought her home. At the time, Seda and I were parenting and homeschooling on one income. A scrappy gardener by nature, I regularly shared plants with friends. My Xtracycle sports-utility bike bags bulged in spring with plants and compost, as I shuttled them to and fro.
I had wanted a forsythia, and I’d noticed that a large plant had overtaken the corner of a busy thoroughfare in the public right-of-way near downtown. Aha! Surely I could spirit a bit of her away without causing much dismay. And so I cycled out with my shovel and a burlap bag to do the dirty work.
I pictured myself slipping in, pocketing the plant, and dashing out unnoticed. That’s not actually how it went down. Instead, I found myself balancing precariously at the edge of the curb as I tried to sink my shovel into a tangle of plant and root (did I mention she was crowding the sidewalk?). I huffed and puffed as I jumped up and down on the shovel, only to fall off sideways, frontwards, and back. After managing to sink it three inches deep, I levered the shovel with all my might, poking my rear out in traffic as I leaned into the task. I worked my way around her roots, pushing under here, there, everywhere. It took over an hour, enough time to nearly get comfortable with the discomfort.
She’s not the showiest forsythia (shhhhh). Her flowers have not been hybridized to open upwards brightly. The blossoms are small and look ready to withstand a gale force of wind. I do find beauty in that. Sharing her with you now, I grow fonder of her still, amused at our relationship.
I am showing you my lens here. The forsythia sees the story differently. I would love to know how she tells it. My observations are touched with my my angle, the story of my becoming. It’s good for me to notice this. It helps me hold my story lightly while still appreciating it.
Which of your plant friends bring to mind a story, and with whom do you share about them?