Kinship with a Shrub: Finding Connection in the Life Cycles Around Us

10 hours ago
4 min read

"Let's wander off our mat or blanket for five minutes, breathing deeply... taking time to notice and observe Mother Nature around us intentionally," I invited, as myself and those attending our Rooted in Peace- Meditation in the Gardens session softened into the beauty around us. Connections with the life cycles around us began to form as we slowed down to be present.

coral peonies blooming in the peaceful Cedar Valley Arboretum & Botanical Gardens

We all tread gently in differing directions, our eyes venturing toward unique sights and hands reaching out to feel the textures of a variety of plants. While the vibrant and fluffy peonies of coral, light pink, and deep fuschia hit a sweet spot both visually and with their scent, it was another plant that drew my own attention.

This little green shrub along the path was nothing astounding. In fact, it would be easy to walk on by without even noticing it. The plant was small, only lifting off the ground less than six inches with a diameter a foot wide. Though it had beautiful and lush green new growth, it also had a few struggling branches, and a section that was dried brown and no longer living.

This little plant mirrored back to me my own stage of life and left me feeling a sense of kinship with it. On either side of this shrub were two larger, fuller plants that appeared healthy as could be. I saw how this small shrub had allowed those beside it to absorb the nutrients needed for them to become large and healthy and breathed into this moment of connection.

I've been feeling much like this shrub, the bushes on either side representative of our children. For the seasons of growth we've journeyed through, their needs have come first. Nutrients I've needed have been sacrificed in order for them to have what they've needed to get a healthy and well-balanced start to life.

Such is motherhood.

As they grew inside of me, calcium was released from my own bones to create theirs. The sustenance of food I ate became their little bodies, and after birth my body supported their growth with nutrient-rich milk. And for years, the sleep I needed became disrupted as they required comfort and safety.

Reaching the ages of eight and four now, their roots have begun to settle in and grow established. Their branches are reaching strong and expansive and they are even beginning to bloom in new and beautiful ways.

It is time to nurture my own wellness and growth in new ways.

There are little dead branches to prune... areas of my life that are no longer needed nor benefiting my overall health. There are tender areas of new growth to nurture gently, and roots that are able to begin absorbing more nutrients for myself once again. Of course, there are still many ways I'll be supporting and encouraging the growth of these lovely lives on either side of me, but I may also reach my own branches out for more sunlight and soak in the rain more myself alongside them.

As I do so, I can give grace and hold space for this current phase of life we're in.

It can be easy in our society to fall into the expectation of feeling like we need to be in peak bloom continuously. Yet even in these incredible gardens full of thousands of plant varieties, there is no plant that is in full bloom all year round. We can be hard on ourselves when in a more "dormant" stage of growth... where the energy expended is creating growth beneath the surface. During these stages, new growth is not yet observable to a passerby, often barely noticeable to ourselves.

At the end of our last growing season I began to prepare for the impending winter by pulling up the dahlia tubers I'd planted last spring. To overwinter them, these bulbous roots needed to be placed in a cool, dark, and dry place without freezing. Throughout the season there were some dahlia plants that bloomed more than others, and one particular plant seemed especially lack-luster. It only put up a few blooms all summer, and they were small and seemingly insignificant when compared to the plants full of large and colorful dahlia blooms alongside. However, when time came to dig up the tubers I found an unexpected surprise!

Where the other dahlia plants had a few healthy tubers underneath the surface, the one that barely bloomed had expanded tremendously beneath the surface. There was a large cluster of at least a dozen tubers that could now be separated and each grow a new plant the following spring. While it had appeared that not much was happening with this plant above the soil line, beneath it was an incredible amount of growth. This growth was not to bloom during the current season. Instead it was fostering the growth of blooms that wouldn't happen for nearly another year.

Our lives are a balance of flowing between different life stages, often more than one at a time. Where one area of our lives may be blossoming, another may be just beginning. Where one is just beginning, still another is ending and making way for the new.