Sigh. Â Summer is such a fleeting moment in Minnesota. Â It’s hard not to get giddy with each phase. Â There’s the first 70 degree day, the first 80 degree day, the first why-did-I-want-this? 90 degree day, and the dreaded humid, too hot to breathe, slather my body in ice cream day. But I digress.
Along with the rising temperatures, plants are watermarks to the passage of time. Â The first time mowing the lawn is a thrill. Maybe even the tenth time, but then it gets old and you begin to curse the effectiveness of the fertilizer you used. Â I don’t mind the mowing as much as I mind how often I need to water ourÂ potted plants. Â Those babies dry out faster than a mid-life woman’s skin, and look equally as droopy.
All whining aside, I watch with bittersweet emotions as the beloved perennial flowers sprout, bud, and bloom. Â When the show is over I know it will be another year before I smell the sweet scent of lilacs, mock-orange blossoms, or peonies, and yet I can only inhale so much at a time.
For some reason a peony plant near our mailbox has taken the slow route this year. There was an initial burst of fluffy white blooms, and I crammed my face into the bounty each time I walked by. Â Ahhhh, heaven’s scent. Â Then the plant took a hiatus, and I believed the season of peony flowers had passed. Me, of little faith! Â A couple of days ago three more blooms came to life. Â I was ecstatic and breathed deeply as I tried to hold the memory of the fragrant molecules in my soul. Good thing because today our dog wandered over, pee’d on them, and in the process lopped the head off of one as his leash became entangled.
I watched white petals fall to the ground and winced. Â My heart cried, “Nooooooo!,” while my head said, “This is all gravy. Enjoy what is.” Â Extra bloom time was a gift, and definitely the best part of my day.