Spring is a powerful season. It literally brings joy. Some on the east coast don’t believe its coming back. In Los Angeles it’s Spring most of the year and like spoiled rich kids that have too much, except for maybe the Jacaranda trees blooming, we probably don’t appreciate the actual season as well… a season. Recently I was forced by my landlord to leave my apartment of 13 years. We had two great balconies, a view of the Hollywood hills and an extremely cute urban garden that I deemed mine years ago. My husband and neighbors often said I was way overboard on the attending to and spending on of a garden that really was never mine, but I didn’t care. I love gardening and more, providing lovely space for others. It was my sanctuary and meditation, often providing thcalm in my insecure freelance life and at times, hysterical nature.
After 3 crazy months of hunting we found a new place to live. Its lovely. Its downstairs, darker, cooler, louder in some ways and quieter in others and way newer (especially the floors).I don’t have a garden or balcony, I do have a nice view of a pretty street and many indoor plants. My cat and dog are happier. I can tell.
Yesterday, I sat on the steps of my backdoor, basically in the building driveway, looking at the line up of plants, some I’d brought and some already here. I was reaching for that feeling of garden and California outdoor living and I saw something that helped me a lot.
Amaryllis is my mother’s favorite flower. She’s a great gardener and well aware of gorgeous flowers of every kind, but she adores the surprise of how many blooms each new Amaryllis bulb, each year will bring. In her small NY apartment, she’ll often have three hot red ones with four blooms each – all lighting her living room ablaze with joy. On the neighbor side of my driveway, where I sit and dream about my old, green space, there is nothing living except a huge cactus. The ground along the long area is dirt… but for one blooming plant that is never watered, ever… and refuses to die. An Amaryllis.
I see her and I think, “that’s me.” The redheaded bloom that doesn’t quit. Happy spring.