Starting fresh, we aim to transplant stronger roots
Commentary by Walter Hesford | FāVS News
When is the best time to transplant rose bushes and perennial flowers? Experts agree that it’s before or after they bloom, which in the Inland Northwest usually means early spring or mid-autumn, though with our ever-shifting climate the exact time is hard to pin down.
The reason I want to pin it down is that this year we need to transplant some beloved plants. And the reason we need to do this is that my wife and I need to transplant ourselves.
My stepsons, especially worried about their mother, see this need more than I do, and are sure that the move into a smaller, simpler, one-storied twin home in a retirement center a couple miles from where we have lived for more than four decades will be a good thing, even for me, as I will have less to take care of, fewer stairs to climb. I’m not so sure.
Our current multi-storied home, built in 1938 is, like us, marred by leaks and cracks, and is stuffed with books and files from our teaching careers (anyone want a handout?), china and rickety furniture from multiple ancestors, and every edition of “Ms.” What’s not to love?
Our yard, surrounded by unwieldy trees, has a weedy lawn and several flower and vegetable beds that are also quite weedy. Though we live on a very busy street and are surrounded by other homes, on a clear night we can trace the course of the moon as it moves from east to west from our little back deck. What’s not to love?
So will we grow to love our new home, our new life after we are transplanted? Are we past blooming?
Many others in their 70s and 80s and 90s have faced similar questions. And even some younger folk have transplanted themselves or been transplanted to be closer to family members or care facilities. I’ve heard of successful transplants, of people who flourish in their new environments. And I’ve heard of those who do not.
What makes the difference? Some of it is beyond our control. As our bodies and minds grow even older and weaker, we have to expect deterioration. Yet if we can keep looking forward, make new friends, embrace new challenges, we can help nurture our transplant.
We’ve already met a woman who will be one of our new neighbors. “Are you from New England?” she asked after talking with me for a couple of minutes (I must have said something that should have had and “r” in it, but didn’t). “I’m from New Hampshire,” she said. As we shared our New England roots, and our reasons for our successfully transplanting to the Palouse years ago, we laid grounds for a budding friendship.
My stepsons think having less to care for will be good for us, but I and others think that having people and organizations and causes to care for is essential to having a successful transplant. My wife and I are blessed to have each other, and we have chosen to stay in a community in which we can continue to be active. Other transplanted elders are not so fortunate, have not been given a choice.
The Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor, a well-regard Episcopal priest, teacher and author, has chosen in her retirement to transplant herself with her husband from Atlanta to a farm in north Georgia. In an interview with Josina Guess, she speaks of the need to have people and other animals to care for to ground herself, to achieve wholeness, a sort of holiness, and to see the beauty in ordinary existence. “Jesus,” she remarks, “had a lot more to say about life on Earth then he did about theology.”
As my wife and I transplant ourselves along with some roses and blue hyacinths, we will look for new opportunities to live well on earth with our new neighbors, and to find beauty in our new home. God bless our journey.
The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of FāVS News. FāVS News values diverse perspectives and thoughtful analysis on matters of faith and spirituality.
So good I read it twice and still can only think of cliched responses — the good old, “no matter where you go, there you are” and “bloom where you’re planted” — but I know a little something of rose rustling and midnight landscaping for plant slips and starts. Old yards and cemeteries were favorites of my one-time fictional character. Real people ask first and I’ve always been rewarded by the generosity of gardeners. But it won’t matter! I’m sure you and your plants will survive.
What kind of handouts?
Walter, I just transplanted and all is blooming. Change and moving has two coin sides. You covered many. I will just add it could also bring you and your wife even closer as a couple as you embrace your newness and muffle through it ‘all’–together. I like discovering the new cool nature near me with the switch. Take your time and well wishes to you and your wife.