It’s springtime, baby. My favorite season, my birthday season, that season when the morning air is filled with the heady scent of hope and possibility and growing things. And lilacs. Oh, the lilacs!
And here’s the thing–for me, this spring, this year, in fact, is all about the fertilizer. “Bloom where you are planted” is from a passage in the Bible that, while it’s fine idea, I think is overly simplistic. Because sometimes you need to move to find more light, more shade, a new job, a better relationship. And anyone who admires flowers and trees and green things that grow knows that the most verdant, most showy, most beautiful gardens require a generous amount of fertilizer. Fertilizer and weeding. Sometimes a lot of weeding.
So it is with you and me. Bloom where you are planted, but mix in a wheelbarrow full of the finest, richest fertilizer you can find. I’ve come to realize the fertilizer I’ve been relying on just doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s expired and isn’t helping me to grow at all and honestly, maybe never did. And yeah, weed your garden. Remove the boulders, the prickly vines that stab you when you least expect it. And when you bloom–because with this much care you surely will–don’t look around at the other tulips and lilacs and snapdragons and ask them if it’s okay with them that you do. You don’t need permission and you certainly don’t need their approval.
I’m getting my first load of fresh fertilizer in Portland next weekend. In a room full of temporary strangers and two remarkable women. I’m not sure what to expect, but I guarantee I’ll be shoveling as much of that shit into the back of my little red Prius as I can and driving back home to jumpstart a remarkable growing season.