Sometimes, on special occasions, I’ve been gifted with a beautiful orchid. Yet once the blossoms fell, the plant would soon follow. Over time, I found myself offering outward gratitude while inwardly cringing; Oh no, I’m going to kill another orchid.

Curiosity eventually replaced dread. Determined to change the pattern, I gently removed one orchid from its small pot and discovered an inner plastic lining that trapped water, its roots tightly bound up and tangled. No wonder it had struggled. I transplanted it into a larger pot, gave her light and water with tender care, and watched closely. Slowly, she began to thrive.

My indoor garden has grown entirely from gifts. Now, I have four orchids, and to my amazement, each one has blossomed this spring, returning their elegant, colorful beauty. Their blooms linger, vibrant and enduring, and it feels like “they are loving me back.” (Kimmerer)

After listening to Robin Wall Kimmerer podcasts, I’ve come to see this exchange in a new way. Caring for these plants is not a one-sided act; it is reciprocal. In tending to them, I receive not only their beauty, but a deepened awareness and a quiet reminder of the generosity of the living world and our responsibility to care for it in return.

Mary Oliver offers this lovely wisdom in her poem “What Can I Say”

What can I say that I have not said before?
So I’ll say it again.
The leaf has a song in it. Stone is the face of patience.
Inside the river there is an unfinishable story
and you are somewhere in it
and it will never end until all ends.

Take your busy heart to the art museum
but take it also to the forest.
The song you heard singing in the leaf
when you were a child is singing still.

By Mary Oliver (Adapted)

Shared by Liz Sorensen Wessel
(Orchid photo by Liz)