I was taking a turn serving as a volunteer at our local museum. It was a beautiful morning, not hot, not cold, not windy, no insects buzzing around. A quick glance showed me that the flower beds could do with a bit of deadheading – removing the spent blossoms to encourage the plant to produce more flowers- for any non-gardeners. 

For the first half hour, I worked bending over. The second half hour I spent on my knees. The rest of the time I alternated between sitting, stretching, bending and sitting. I have a whole new appreciation for the staff at the cemetery whose entire day can consist of working in the petunias. 

The entire task took about an hour and a half, working at a “please, somebody interrupt me” speed. Steady as she goes. Time enough to wax reflective. It was easy to spot the large drooping blossom and pick it off, then the older ones became more visible. And then, when the major flaws were removed, the smaller ones became more obvious. And so it went, for all three containers and both plots. 

I compared this process of refining and improving the flower patch to refining and improving my personal life. It doesn’t take a sharp eye to spot my strongest weak points. The type of undesirable characteristic that anyone one can see at a glance. My procrastination for example, or my love for sweets. Take them out of the mix, and some of my quirks become more evident. I still fight with my desire to use sarcasm. Back in my youth, I was the mistress of the biting quip and realised it was a poor man’s tool, I could handle frustration and annoyance better than that. And as I peeled away another layer of the onion – I am mixing metaphors, for I am deadheading petunias! As another set of dried and decaying blossoms are removed, what is now the blight are the little dried sticks protruding where once a flower waved. 

These old scars are still an eyesore and are best removed from the bed to make the current flowers shine.  

Those little things, words said in haste, a disservice in thought or deed, can still echo in the thought chamber. I am not alone when I cringe over the memory of things said or done way back in school. I have a long memory. Done and gone, these need to be plucked and discarded, once for all time. I picked and tossed a few of them that morning.

Strange how what was to be a time filler turned on me. Not in a bad way, but in an unexpected way. That time spent outdoors, working with creation to become its best, helped me. And if deadheading can do that for me! Well, a few days later, driving down Highway 10, I spotted the silhouette of stately pines, towering above the forest, visible for miles. A lesson for self, for a later time.