English Bluebells

I am so excited that I’m babbling. On October twenty-third of last year I planted some English Bluebell bulbs into a container here on my patio deck. They were a gift from a special friend, a lovely lady. This morning, when I went out to check the containers to make sure they were moist enough, I spotted seven tiny green shoots just peeking through the soil. WOW! The neighbors must have thought I’d lost it, but WOW!

Before you all turn away shaking your heads and thinking that I have lost it, allow me to explain: I live now in Arizona—in the desert where little of what I know and love grows. This is a land of cactus, a few scraggly trees, rocks, scorpions, and rattlesnakes. I have to say though that it does have it’s own unique beauty. But, having come originally from Wales and then from the Northwestern United States, I am starved for the greenery of Wales, my homeland, and of my adopted State of Oregon. After all, you cannot hug a cactus.

But let me get back to those tiny, courageous green shoots that are peeking up though the lovingly tended soil I bedded them into—it is nothing short of a miracle—a little bit of Wales right outside my patio door here in Arizona. Although still very tiny, these shoots are so green—that special green that comes only in the spring and raises the spirit to fly—to meet and welcome the returning birds, flutter with the butterflies, and the other winged creatures. Life is a miracle—the proof of that was shown to me this morning in the form of those tiny, green jewels.

Vi