Moonflowers

I have been trying for years to grow Moonflowers. We had the most magnificent Moonflower vines when the boys were small, we would go out in the evenings and watch the flowers open, huge white silky pinwheels that glowed in the dark. The bud would shake a bit and literally before our eyes the flower would swirl open. Magic on a late summer’s evening. I don’t know what I have been doing wrong or why I can’t seem to make them grow, but nothing seems to do the trick.

This year I soaked the seeds, like I always do, and then I tucked them in little peat pots, kept them moist, and waited. The Morning Glories, Four O’ Clocks, and Cosmos seemed to pop up overnight in their little warm pots, Moonflowers, nothing. I would go out and kneel over them and sigh, loudly, long suffering even. Then finally, two of the 18 seeds that I had planted peeked their little heads out. I should have been happy, and I was – but where were the rest? I wanted them all to germinate. Another little head poked out the next day and then nothing for three more days. I picked up a little stick, as I was once again peering over them, and thought I would “help”, or at least see what was going on under the fine covering of growing material. So I poked and prodded, some seeds were still dormant, some looked liked they might be splitting open, I quickly tucked them back in with soil. And don’t you know as I was poking at another, it had sprouted and I knocked its little head off. I was crushed. I sat back on the wooden rail of the garden thinking that I was such an idiot. I had a thousand thoughts about how I don’t trust the process, I know that most growth takes place in the unseen, in the dark, that roots grow where you can’t see, you have to trust. Scripture romped across my mind and I was like, yeah, I get it. But it didn’t stop me from picking up the stick and poking a few more. So impatient, so curious, so distrustful. I grew pretty despondent, I had anticipated running out of places to plant our Moonflowers, not having to coax a few to life.

I sat there doodling with my stick now, pushing the puppy away, he knew I was upset. You may be wondering why get so sad over a few flowers, but it was the thoughts and awareness that breaking the head off that new little growth had brought to me. All I could think of was the boys. My wonderfully inquisitive boys, so sweet and smart, so quick. How many times in my impatience did I snap off new growth, did I push too much, did I over water, did I poke and prod and in my desire for them to reach their “potential”, to be “successful”, did I disrupt their little peat pots? What if I had been more patient, less stressed, more content to just trust that with plenty of sunshine, a little water, gentle nurturing, that they would grow. What interests or talents were squelched by too much poking and prodding? Too much growth too quick and the plant is leggy with no strength in its stem, slow growth is best, the plant builds an infrastructure and strong roots. I often wish I could turn back the clock and do it all again, and then I realize that at 52 I am still digging and poking, impatient to see what is growing and what is not. So chances are good that I would still be poking and prodding having learned nothing.

I have three little Moonflower seedlings that I have tucked in their intended growing spaces. I check on them a couple times a day, give them little drinks if they look dry, fuss at them, tell them to grow. I have two tucked in the “Friends” garden, I picture them running up the trellis and going out in the evenings to watch them tremble and open.

The growing season is so short. Planting seeds makes me think of Justin, nestled in the ground, resting.  Such a brief flowering, what a sweetness he brought to life.  I wander out to check on the Moonflowers after the rain and I see it is starting to send out its true leaves, they should be beautiful heart shaped leaves as they unfurl. Perhaps for the rest of this season I will cease my poking and prodding, and just let things grow in peace and stillness.