The other evening at dusk Frank and
I strolled his garden out at the ranch.
It's a sylvan setting beside a bubbling.
creek. For days he's been preparing
beds and planting seeds. Battling
natural forces ever ready to reclaim
the turf. On this edge of civilization
a plum tree bloomed. However even
more beautiful was a bed filled with
daffodils in all their glory. And for
one brief spring moment his prairie
plat was transformed into paradise!
Could this be how the west was won?
I asked Frank why he hadn't brought any
of said blossoms home. His answer was
"They belong here." Oddly that made
total sense. You see, if something thrives
within this rather challenging climate it's
literally a gift from God. And knowing
how hard it fought to get there, the very
idea of snipping it in the bud makes it
all seem futile. The dichotomy of what's
put there by God versus man is physical
proof that opposites attract. Overcoming
all obstacles makes the victor's spoils all
the more beautiful. What a blessing...
Frank's daffodils remind me of urban
life. The other day "Habitually Chic" -
one of my favorite blogs posted the
picture shown at left. There sits the
blossom filled median strip of soil
that runs up and down Park Avenue
in all of it's springtime glory. Seeing
those tulips and flowering branches
amidst the concrete jungle is actually
akin to discovering Frank's posies
out in these wide open spaces. Both
don't belong where they are. Yet their
alien invasion is beyond inspiring.
As I've said many times before, we all
want what we can't (or shouldn't) have.
Which explains why this transplanted
Easterner struggles with landscaping.
Many years ago "T's " garden house
was enrobed in magnificent wisteria.
Since then I've craved a pergola just
smothered in the stuff. Our Arts &
Crafts home is a perfect candidate if
only our climate agreed. Recently I
discovered a variety for Zone 4. Yet
post more research, I've learned that
it struggles to survive let alone bloom.
Proof that almost anything put out
of context has to fight to succeed.
Looking back on my life that at
least partially explains some of my
prior mistakes. Growing up in mid
century America, the very concept
of homosexuality was alien. While
we worried about men from Mars
nobody (including myself) wanted
to admit queers were a natural part
of the mix. Like Frank's daffodils, I
buried my true self deep down. Only
to blossom at a much later date.
Living in Central Montana, I'm probably
the equivalent of a hot house varietal. At
times I wonder why I do whatever comes
naturally. Last week I strolled downtown
to pick up some necessities including two
dozen chartreuse roses. Upon my arrival
back home I looked in the mirror. There
I stood wearing an azaelea pink Brooks
Brothers sweater cradling said posies in
my arms. What a sight I must have been
parading up and down Lewistown's main
drag. Talk about a rhinestone cowboy...
Whatever was I thinking?
Hopefully we all bring something to this
pot luck called life. The bits and pieces
that make us who we are come together
via capricious circumstances. Therefore
rather than allow oneself to blend into the
woodwork, each of us should celebrate
our differences. That's what ultimately
colors our collective world. Everyday
I rediscover all that makes the heart of
central Montana unique. All of which
is a reminder to enjoy every step of my
journey towards becoming a hybrid. And
how about you? Blossom while ye may...
