Cornucopia

Several years after our house was first built, Amy and I decided to plant some bulbs under our Crabapple tree in front of the house. The Crabapple tree was a beautiful and hardy ornamental tree that bloomed every spring with white and pink flowers. During the colder winter months, birds feasted on its berries. It was the perfect spot to plant a variety of perennial bulbs. They included daffodils, tulips, and crocuses.

Claire, who was three or four at the time, enthusiastically volunteered to help us plant them. I purchased a special shovel from the local gardening store to dig the hole, drop the bulb in, and refill the hole. The rocky nature of our lot made the process difficult, and the special shovel only made it through about half the bulbs before it became a useless piece of twisted metal. We persisted in our efforts, however, and managed to plant dozens of bulbs under the tree and in the landscaping areas on each side of our driveway.

Each spring we were treated to a cornucopia of colors when the flowers bloomed. From yellow, pink and purple to orange, red, and white, they brightened every spring for our family to enjoy. We often took family pictures in front of the crabapple and bulbs each spring.

Many years ago, the Crabapple tree died and we had to cut it down. We were never sure why, but over a two-year period, it slowly faded away and one year failed to bloom at all. Likewise, after twenty years or so, the bulbs slowly began to dwindle in number until one year, Claire noticed that only a few bloomed each Spring.

After Amy passed, Claire and I vowed to restore this area of our landscaping. I purchased about 75 bulbs using some of Amy’s memorial money for the effort. I waited patiently for an opportunity to plant them with Claire, but our schedules never seemed to sync up to get this task completed. So, one day in October as the anniversary of Amy’s passing approached, I grabbed a shovel and set to work. I did not want to lose out on the opportunity to have the bulbs bloom the following spring.

Plants under my care tend to pass prematurely given my sporadic attention to common tasks such as watering and fertilization. Only the heartiest of plants survive when they are entrusted to my care. Northwestern Mutual gifted our family a large indoor plant upon Amy’s passing. Despite my neglect, the plant continues to hang onto life by a thread. Three and a half years later, I water it only when it starts to wilt. It is so deprived of soil at this point, that even a half glass of water runs through it instantly onto the floor.

So today, I carried it outside to dissect it and determine if it was worth saving. I released it from its pot only to find that its roots have little to no room for growth and have begun to wrap around the pot in a thick mass. My cold detachment to the plant melted when I saw the result of my neglect.

I sighed. I rummaged around the garage and found two larger pots left over from last year’s seasonal flower purchases. Two half bags of potting soil and fertilizer were still lingering beneath my work bench as I have not touched them since Amy’s gardening efforts several years ago.

I split the plant apart and loosened as many of the roots as I could and replanted them into the two pots. I mixed in fertilizer per the instructions, watered the plants, and set them outside in the sun.

Time will tell whether my feeble efforts will save the plant(s). If they survive, I will give one to Claire for her condominium. The other I will once again place inside by our back patio doors.

I have neglected many things in my life in the past few years. Part of that neglect came from other priorities such as caring for Amy. Other parts came from a deeply wounded soul that I thought would never heal. From plants and house maintenance tasks to friendships and my happiness, I have not been as attentive as I need to be.

Despite my guilt for this neglect, I feel a renewed effort can restore some brightness and life back into my plants and to my soul. Like the front of my house, it only takes a little sunshine and some fresh soil to cultivate a field of thriving bulbs once again. I will dedicate some tender care to my neglected plant to see if I can coax it back to health. But I know for sure that next year’s bulbs will be a spectacular cornucopia of color and life.