The Thorn

2016-03-08_rose in jar


The Bohemian had already offered his rose cutting a greenhouse-like environment, by covering it with a Mason jar at the kitchen window. So when, on the same day, his tea bag proverb gave a respectful reminder, he took it as confirmation that he was on the right track. Ever-hopeful that this stem from my Valentine’s day rose may actually take root, the Bohemian was eyeing it, continually, for any millimeter of growth, constantly checking the dampness of the soil.

It seemed to me that he was respecting the thorn, and then some.

But then one day the stem darkened. He brought it to my attention, with concern, but I shrugged it off, suggesting that we still just wait and see. The Bohemian was skeptical.

Then one morning, while washing dishes, I glanced up to see an empty pot.

Later that afternoon, he asked “Did you see the pot?”

“Yes. Did you transplant the cutting?”

“No. I put it in the compost. It had that black stem. It just died.”

Our house sits on a steep hillside, shaded by a forest of trees. Anything that grows there survives purely on filtered sunlight and whatever rain falls. We have been surprised to discover young saplings of orange and lemon trees, and plenty of papaya starts, growing two and three feet tall amongst the undergrowth. The reason being, that past inhabitants of our home simply flung their fruit scraps, seeds and all, over the hillside. The young trees are merely volunteers, thriving survivors of a random scattering.

One can dote with full attention and still lose all. And all can arise from one carefree gesture.

Just because the Bohemian’s rose cutting didn’t make it, doesn’t mean he didn’t respect the thorn. It doesn’t signify that our true love won’t live on. In this case, I’d say it’s more about the practicals. Maybe next time he’ll use rooting powder, or try a higher quality cutting.

The poet in me does ponder the proverb and the thorn. That bitter that comes with the sweet. The full spectrum of life experience, which includes deterioration. Death.

We’ll take the thorn of defeat on this cutting. But I’m sure it’s not the last time I’ll see the Bohemian fiddling with plant life by the kitchen window, positioning glass jars, moving close to inspect, then standing back to admire, smiling all the while. Always trying to grow.

Rose Love

Only the Bohemian would take the Valentine’s Day rose he brought me, and try to eek out more life from the love offering.

I teased him when he clipped the stem into two pieces, planting the bud into the soil of our potted spider plant by the kitchen sink. He wanted to see if it would root. And I laughed harder when he took a section of the thorny stem and stuck it in a bottle of water.

But he was laughing at me a few days later when he asked, “Have you seen my rose?”

Because my rose, had now become his latest gardening experiment, and by golly, that stem had a shoot of new growth.

2016-03-03_rose stem

“I’m making roses!” he grinned.

I can see that look in his eyes, as he gazes out at the yard, imagining the new rose garden he’ll have started, all from the gesture of one single holiday bloom to me.

Neither one of us has bothered to research the odds of a stem sprouting to create, what would be, a bona fide rose-bush bearing flowers. At this point, we’re just observing with great interest (note those hair-like roots coming off the top of the stem, as well).

We’ll keep you posted on the love blossom.

Should I Just Get a Flickr Account?

I think the Archives has turned into a photography blog.

And there is nothing wrong with photography blogs. I love photos. Obviously, as it appears that images, rather than words, seem to be the featured medium on the site, as of late.

I have my theories as to why the thread has woven toward static shots. A picture’s worth a thousand words!

With my mind so full of details and my heart so rich with love lessons, the simplicity of a photo of a flower brings me peace. Is intended to touch your day with a little bit of beauty. No words necessary.

Except that this is a writing blog. Here to chronicle the everyday details of life. Finding the profound in the mundane.

My initial concept for this site was to deny nothing. Allow for everything – no matter how apparently dull – to be the source of inspiration, somehow.

I fleshed out grocery trips to Costco, wrote about newspaper coupons, shoe shopping and broken washing machines. Little did I know I would get an epic love story with the Bohemian between domestic chores. And now, some semblance of a wedding in the Fall.

I’ve chanted the mantra throughout these four-hundred-and-thirty-some-odd posts “follow the thread”. And this thread has led me to find that some things are so intimate they are not yet ready for public sharing. Seeds germinate and take their time before coming to surface in the light. Butterflies metamorphose in their cocoons until they’re ready for flight.

And so the Secret Chronicles begin (I’m such a blab, I’m telling you about them anyway). They are mine for now. Taking a bit of my creative writing juice, these are the written archives of experiences still too close to share. Saved and stowed away. Until maybe one day…

In the meantime, the Archives may have days where words fall short. Photos reign supreme. Or maybe tomorrow it will all be different.

Who knows? We’re all on this wild life journey with no map outlining the exact details of where we’ll travel. We each have a thread we follow.

Today my thread lead to the rose grown in Mary’s garden.

A thousand words.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved