I love my plants and my outdoor meditation area. I love nurturing the plants, watering them, fertilizing them, making sure they have enough sunlight, covering them in cold weather, and, yes, even talking to them when I think they need a little encouragement to keep growing.
But, I hate pruning them.
It feels cruel, standing there with pruning shears, me being the one who decides which parts live and which parts go. The leaves are still green, there are even still flowers in bloom, but I'm supposed to cut them back.
I have to trust that taking away from it will somehow help it become more, turn into something new.
It just feels mean, removing parts that took months to grow, hoping the plant forgives me. And the worst part? There's no guarantee it will come back. I can do everything right, the way the Planta app tells me, and still, the plant might not come back.
I've had two plants this past week who have been helping me through a difficult time, metaphorically speaking.
I have been raising this coleus plant for months now. It began as a tiny greenhouse seedling I purchased from Living with the Land at EPCOT.
I've had luck with a few other seedlings from The Land, like lavender and passionfruit, but this little guy has just thrived in his new home. His name is Coleman, by the way.
So, when the Planta app told me three days ago that it was time to prune it, I was not happy. I knew what it might end up looking like and how that would emotionally affect me. I'm an empathetic plant carer, I get it.
By the time I was done, a full third of the coleus was sitting on the ground and I was sad.
And then, as I was picking up the pile to discard, I found a single branch that caught my eye.
The stem I cut off tells a story, and reflects the metaphor I spoke of earlier.
The main stem is woody and stiff, a sign it's still been growing, but left neglected for too long. The side branches are doing fine as they have been taking nutrients from the stem, but, in doing so, they have left the stem's top wilting and drying. The stem is supporting the external growth, but at its core, it is not healthy, and so it is struggling to survive.
This happens when a coleus isn't pruned regularly. As the stems age, they become woody and tough, and this makes new, fresh growth harder. The plant is trying to grow, but because the new growth pulls energy from the stem, it's left weak. So, even though I don't like to do it, I understand that the regular pruning keeps the stems soft and energy flowing where it’s needed most, so both the main stem and the new growth can thrive.
Relationships aren't much different. If you want a relationship to thrive, you have to be intentional about investing energy where it's most needed, at the core, at the main part, at the connection to its beginnings.
It's natural to want to help and nurture the external parts. But what happens when these parts end up taking time and attention away from the main source, without realizing just how much they’re pulling from the roots?
Too much energy is pushed to the external parts, and this weakens the foundation of the relationship. There has to be a new awareness, and sometimes a painful choice made to cut some back, so the core of the relationship stays strong and continues to grow.
And then, there's this guy. (Why are all my plants of the male variety??)
This is Oscar, a Madagascar periwinkle I have been working with for a while. He started out in pretty good shape, although a bit gangly. So, I also pruned him, about two months ago, and it's not been pretty ever since.
I asked someone with plant knowledge how far back I should prune it, and they said "By at least 2/3, if I want it to bush out instead of just shooting up. "
So, that's what I did and I've been following the Planta app's advice for watering, fertilizing, more sun, too much sun, remove any dead parts, keep leaves out of the soil, and, "Stop burying your peanuts in the pot, Reggie, and then digging them up disrupting the soil and exposing the roots!"
But, I just haven't felt that anything I did or did not do was going to help the periwinkle get healthy and thrive again.
Seeing these two pictures side-by-side tells me two things:
I really suck at taking close-up shots of my plants; they even look blurry with my glasses on.
Sometimes, there has to be a period of time where you have to let the plant "just be." Keep doing the best you can for it, attend to its well-being, but then step back and give it some time and space to do what it’s meant to do. It might not make it. But then again....
It just might surprise you one day and start to grow again. The new growth is still generating from the original roots of the periwinkle, separate from the less healthy parts. There are times in a relationship when it feels like no matter how much care, attention, and effort you put into it, it just keeps staying the same, with no growth, and even sometimes, not seeing hope for a positive future. So, relationships often need the same kind of patience as plants.
External sources, past hurts, or constant distractions end up pulling energy away from the core of the relationship. And when this happens, sometimes the best thing, the only thing, you can do is take a breather, reflect, refocus, and let things settle for a bit.
During this possibly painful and sad process, it may still feel like nothing is changing. But then, one day, you see something. Fresh, new growth coming from the same original root, but finding a new way to thrive, apart from what was holding it back.
And this can mean...
Crap! Reggie, that's not a better choice!!! You have an entire yard!
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