Several weeks ago, as I sat outside working on my laptop while the kids rode their bikes after school, I looked up and saw this: a front yard full of glorious wildflowers. It took my breath away.
Seven years before, when we’d dug up our yard soon after moving into this house, the landscapers told me one day the tiny plants they’d placed in mulch would grow to be big and bountiful. They were right – and I’ve loved watching them come into their own. They bring me such joy whenever I pull into our driveway.
But on that day, when the flowers caught me by surprise, it was like I was seeing them for the first time through old eyes. I suddenly remembered that, as a girl, one of my recurring daydreams was to have a house with a yard full of wildflowers. The depth of that wish came flooding back to me.
How I used to tear out magazine photos of wildflower fields, just to stare at.
How I would sing Dolly Parton’s Wildflowers song at the top of my lungs {“When a flower grows wild, it can always survive; wildflowers don’t care where they grow”}.
How I shook off adults’ comments about it being hard to find a space to grow wildflowers in the city or even the suburbs.
How had I forgotten all of this!?
Maybe my inner 11-year-old has been whispering to me all along, keeping me from trimming and plucking those plants, letting the flowers we’d planted run wild. As I sat there, dazzled by what’s been in front of me all along, it was like her child eyes were peering through mine, witnessing this manifestation of her wildflower dream. I was so soul-deep happy for her. Does that make any sense?
And it was one more reminder for this grown-up heart of mine that even forgotten dreams can blossom when they are planted in the light, without a shadow of a doubt. Long ago, that me-girl dreamed it, believed it, created it.
And she offers me this wisdom now: the things I’m dreaming of, whole-heartedly believing in, and joyfully envisioning today can and will blossom tomorrow – even if I don’t know how or where.
Happy planting, dear ones.
