Instability

In the Language of Flowers dahlias can represent instability. It’s what I’ve felt for most of the growing season. I’ve found myself avoiding the garden which was once a place of peace. 

Aphids, thrips, and leafhoppers descended on my dahlias’ new growth as they tenderly poked through the ground. Squirrels dug up tubers and destroyed them. My garden became rows of spindly sprouts.

At first my dahlias recovered. They sent up new leaves, green and glossy and full of life. But then many of the leaves yellowed, streaks and halos that told me they were sick. I threw the worst plants out in a white garbage bag and started hovering over the remaining dahlias, every hint of discoloration sparking a new wave of anxiety. My garden became the source of my anxiety.

There are still some dahlias in the garden and I know that they will flower and give me the blooms I have been waiting for. But my thoughts are scattered and unsure and I know I can’t sell or keep any of them for next year. 

My children were excited to help me sell my dahlias. I had visions of them in the garden with me, bunching colors they liked together, putting stickers with my name on the bouquet wraps. I imagined us working in the basement together, teaching them about flowers and design and life. I was proud to show them that I could step so far outside of my comfort zone and try something new.

Now they will see me fail before I’ve even really started. But they will see me fail and learn from my mistakes, brush myself off, and try again next year. I hope they see that it’s okay to try for something that feels meaningful to them. I hope they see that it’s okay to give themselves the permission to change their minds or fail. I hope they see the growth that can stem from failure—that there are opportunities to bloom in a different way. And I hope that the garden is still a source of beauty and wonder.