Last fall, sometime most likely in mid-October, I was sitting in my favorite big blue chair, munching a salad loaded with fresh organic produce, including crunchy carrots, tomatoes, sweet golden peppers, and creamy avocado. I often sat in this chair, eating. My back would hurt too much to sit in straight backed chairs, or on hard surfaces, so I can't be sure exactly when the seed was planted.
On November 8th I had a lumbar fusion performed, and spent the better part of the next couple of months upstairs, but by the end of December I would wander through the downstairs and the living room once a day, to feed the fish and periodically check on which plants might need watering. I have a lot of plants, and a bit of a passion for cacti. Both my thumbs are green! I have so many plants, that when we have moved across country, which we've done a couple of times, a U-Haul truck was needed just for them and a few of my larger sculptures. One of our moves was from Chapel Hill, North Carolina to Yuma, Arizona. Taking my many plants into Arizona required a visit from the Department of Agriculture to inspect them and make sure they were all disease free (they were!). They also had to be counted, but getting an exact count, with them spread all over the house, was difficult. The inspector approximated 105.
One afternoon, on my wander, I noticed a little green sprout in between the scraggly arms of this cactus. I figured it was a weed, but it had a familiar appearance, and the little leaves were a pretty shade of green, and my curiosity left the little sprout alone. Time went by, and the familiarity became a sureness, with a sprinkling of disbelief, and a whole lot of wonder. The plant that grew was looking like a pepper plant - assumedly from the salad I ate sitting in my blue chair next to a cactus.
Skipping ahead, to February, this volunteer pepper plant had grown a great deal - strong, healthy and gorgeous green against the wintery February sky. Then it began to flower. All lingering doubts about what it was disappeared, and I fell in love with this little plant! It had already taken on more meaning to me than the fact that I was happy to have proof that I was actually eating vital food. I saw it as a symbolic partner of hope, growing along side my healing.
I'm not sure just how many rounds of flowers bloomed and fell without any pepper forming, but there were at least 4, before finally - a pepper did form... and grow. It got to about the size and shape of a lopsided golf ball before it stopped growing, but began changing color. From it's deep green it lightened and yellowed into a golden glow, with a tinge of orange where it faced the sunny window. I forgot to take a picture of it before I munched it down in three bites one day! Still warm from the sunny window, it was a sweet, crunchy, tender treat! And I saved it's seeds.
By July it had completely over crowded it's host and I decided I'd better find it a pot of it's own, or perhaps it was time to simply remove it and send it on to compost. After all, it had been dropping yellowing leaves, those that were still green were nearly transparent, and it couldn't stand on it's own but was propped up by the supporting branches of the cactus. I couldn't do it though - there was still life there, so I planned to repot and see what happened. I procrastinated for a couple more weeks, but finally got a pot, soil, and fork (to separate the tangled roots of the pepper and it's host) and headed to the living room. Moments later, I'm smiling to myself as I discover three new flower buds have appeared, as if in response to it's "near death experience"!
I'm not sure just how many rounds of flowers bloomed and fell without any pepper forming, but there were at least 4, before finally - a pepper did form... and grow. It got to about the size and shape of a lopsided golf ball before it stopped growing, but began changing color. From it's deep green it lightened and yellowed into a golden glow, with a tinge of orange where it faced the sunny window. I forgot to take a picture of it before I munched it down in three bites one day! Still warm from the sunny window, it was a sweet, crunchy, tender treat! And I saved it's seeds.
By July it had completely over crowded it's host and I decided I'd better find it a pot of it's own, or perhaps it was time to simply remove it and send it on to compost. After all, it had been dropping yellowing leaves, those that were still green were nearly transparent, and it couldn't stand on it's own but was propped up by the supporting branches of the cactus. I couldn't do it though - there was still life there, so I planned to repot and see what happened. I procrastinated for a couple more weeks, but finally got a pot, soil, and fork (to separate the tangled roots of the pepper and it's host) and headed to the living room. Moments later, I'm smiling to myself as I discover three new flower buds have appeared, as if in response to it's "near death experience"!
So, it now has a home of it's own and is thriving -
flowering like crazy, and forming new peppers with a gusto.
flowering like crazy, and forming new peppers with a gusto.
With the extra space, I figured it was time to expand, so I also sprinkled in a few of the seeds from the pepper I had eaten. There are now three baby plants that have sprouted and grown, a couple of inches each, surrounding the main momma plant!
I offer my little yellow bell pepper's story to you as a symbol of the power of life force that runs through so many things that get overlooked, thrown away, ignored and under valued. This one little plant offers me joy, reminds me to take pause each day to appreciate all I have. It provides me with the opportunity to nurture life, to see beauty, to remember nature, and to laugh. If this one little plant provides me with this much richness, I wonder just how many other sparks of life, moments, and blessings I'm given the opportunity to appreciate each and every day, that I allow to go by unnoticed? What's your pepper plant?! What makes you take pause, to see more meaning than appears on the surface, to take you into a space of deep appreciation for what life is? Thanksgiving seems a good time to renew a commitment to being more aware of all the minute beauties and miracles in each day.
