Late bloomers

 It’s almost October, the time when flowers fade and leaves fall. But I’m amazed at the wealth of flowers still blooming here at the retirement center. It seems unseasonable, but I’m not complaining.

On the fifth floor where I live, we have a communal balcony. Three of my neighbors—Marlene, Phyllis, and Sarah—have voluntarily created and now maintain a spectacular garden of potted flowers. The geraniums, marigolds, daisies, petunias, and others make this a wonderful place to sit and read a book or visit with friends. Hummingbirds regularly flit about the feeder.

Downstairs a terrace off the main dining room is my favorite place to eat when the weather cooperates (as it is so generously doing these weeks). But more than the weather, the boxes and pots of flowers add to the beauty. Again, a resident volunteer, Mary Sue, regularly waters and prunes these flowers.

The path down in the canyon is shaded and most of the wildflowers have died, but I still find blooms that make me stop and smile.

Our community garden has enjoyed an abundant summer season, outdoing itself in flowers and veggies, even a few fruit trees and berry bushes. Hal and I are not seasoned gardeners, and I was again surprised when plants actually did come up out of the ground and then grew. And grew and grew. We know we need to learn better how and when to prune. I loved the abundance, but the jungle-like appearance of our plot made me embarrassed. No matter. The flowers are still outdoing themselves.

Some would say that for us older folks our season of blooming is past. That we’re slowly pushing our walkers into the fall of life, with winter just ahead. And yet—I’ve never seen so many beautiful blossoms concentrated in one place. I’m talking about the people who live here. Funny people. People with rich stories to tell. People with colorful personalities and interesting lives. People who are facing the reality of growing older with courage and humor. What a garden!

And I’m a part of it. I’ve just recently realized that while I’ve never before faced the physical challenges I’m currently struggling with, the quality of my life has never been more rich, creative, colorful, or beautiful than it is right now. I feel this way most days (not all days, of course).

As a teenager, I was a late bloomer, a fact that caused me grief but got resolved over time.

And here I am in a retirement center, once again a late bloomer. Living among a bunch of funny bright blooming idiots. But we’re not crazy. We’re just having fun and enjoying our garden.

 

[Note: I’m posting this essay early this week because I leave tomorrow for a week-long retreat. Part of our discipline will be giving up use of all electronic devices. No computers, cell phones, iPads, etc. I think I’ll survive. Actually, I’m looking forward to it. I’ll report back next week.]