The rosemary plant had lived in the same small blue pot for a very, very long time.
She had been a gift from my parents to put on my balcony when I lived in London. That was a very, very long time ago. Earlier this year, she was still living in that little blue pot. Understandably, she was not happy. If she could speak, she probably would have given me the silent treatment. I was a terrible caretaker.
Actually, Rosemary could speak. And she spoke clearly. With her woody, scraggly stems. With her decided lack of green growth. With her feeble attempt at flowering. Every day she screamed ‘Help!’
Finally, I did help. Early in the summer I planted her out into the real garden, in a new herb bed. I did not hold out much hope. I had waited too long. She was too old. Too scraggly. She would not recover. And I would forever have to live with the guilt.
But oh, how quickly she returned to life. Within a few weeks lush green growth had started to sprout. Was I forgiven? I believe I was forgiven.
I can only imagine how she must have felt, her roots no longer hitting the edges of that small blue pot. Now they could reach down and out into a great expanse of fresh earth. So much space. So much freedom to become herself.
I was rewarded with beautiful, luscious, soft and sticky sprigs of rosemary. To push into focaccia. To steep in hot water for tea. But mostly I just crouched next to her, running my hands through her leaves, inhaling over and over again and dying in ecstasy, intoxicated with her beauty, so freely and easily given when I had shown her just the smallest amount of care.
She had been in desperate need of a change. And when that change came, she began to thrive!
And now is the time I write something profound and philosophical to relate this story to our own human lives. Something about outgrowing our pots. About how we thrive in the right environment. About the times when it’s time for a change.
But I think today I will leave all that aside and let you take from this story what you will.
Love and courage,
Leah
