Fortune seems to smile on me when it comes to finding places to live. I live in a beautiful old factory in New Hampshire at the moment, with exposed brick walls and huge windows looking west at the hills in the distance. I am able to live alone, and can decorate my place just as I like.
When I moved in to this apartment, I had the thought (not for the first time, either): "This is the nicest place I'll ever live in."
Of course, that was before I found my new place I'll be moving to in June: it has exposed brick walls, hardwood floors, oversized windows, and--a massive feat in Brooklyn!--a private outdoor terrace.
I just ordered a few packets of wildflowers to plant in pots here. Mindful of both my busy schedule and the needs of our pollinators, I researched local native plants and ordered ones that would naturally thrive in New York's climate. My hope is that this space will provide nectar, pollen, and rest to birds, butterflies, and bees, as well as beauty and enrichment for me.
I never paid much attention to wildflowers before one particular day in August of 2019. Before then, plants like goldenrods and Black-Eyed Susans were merely road plants at best, or annoying weeds at worst. I wanted expensive, showy flowers for my future garden. I didn't hate wildflowers; it was more that I didn't even regard them as flowers worthy of the name.
But then in August 2019, the morning of the red-eye flight to Marrakech that would start my grand adventure overseas, my parents and I took a walk on the local trails to stretch out my legs. My father heads up multiple teams that maintain the trails for public use, and as we hiked, he pointed out the wild blackberries and raspberries growing on the side of the trail, there for us to take if we wished.
Near the end of our little trek, just when we were getting worn out and overheated, we walked out of the woods and into a bird-busy meadow. Seated in a peaceful, sunny spot, bordered by the walking trails, its center was absolutely alive with wildflowers dancing in the gentle breezes.
Hanging from the branches of a branched oak was a huge wind chime, its largest cylinder about four feet long. We sat underneath it at a painted picnic table as my dad told me about the trail volunteer who had lost his daughter to a brain tumor a year or two before, when she was in her early twenties. A vibrant, beautiful young woman, she left a deep impression on those lucky enough to have met her while she lived. I was not so lucky, but I felt the love for her bursting out of every petal of the memorial flower meadow that bore her name and championed her memory.
I have never again dismissed wildflowers after that day.
I think we can devalue plants that seem to grow too easily, as if their miracle of birth and growth means nothing compared to some of the more unusual plants in our own cultural contexts. For example, New Englanders nurture plants that don't have the hardiness required to survive a hard frost, not through any fault of their own, but because they are native to a different climate entirely. Likewise, we sometimes try to force situations, other people, or ourselves to fit our preconceived notions of what ought to be. And while a rose bush can survive in a shady, dry area if given the right attention, wouldn't it be happier in a sunny, well-watered one? While you could get along alright, sort of, in one social environment, why not put yourself in situations that allow you to grow naturally? Easily, even?
If I have the means, why not move to a place that fits my living style and desires naturally?
Why not surround myself at home with things I find beautiful and meaningful?
Why not spend time with people who love me and appreciate me as I am?
Why not put myself in good soil for me to grow like weed?
Like a wildflower?
I love this Kate and love you even more! You come from a beautiful field of wildflowers, your family !!!
I love this, |Kate! There is a gentle refreshing difference between carefully manicured gardens, and the wild, jungley tangle of joyful daisies, violets, buttercups....