Wild and Free

We moved away from my mother’s hometown when I was 9. It broke my heart, even though, even then, I understood the necessity and the reasons why. The faint silver lining was that when we went back across the Mississippi River to visit my grandparents, we stayed as guests in their home. This meant that we had our fill of Grammy’s cinnamon bread in the morning, our favorite foods at dinner, as many chocolate chip cookies as we desired, and bedrooms with crisp, ironed sheets and vases of fresh flowers. It’s hard to pick which of those things on that list I loved the most. They physically embodied Grammy and Grandaddy’s love. And they were all done with love by Grammy’s hands. Homemade. Even the flowers. There was never a store bought bloom in the vase. And if she had it her way, we’d have overflowing bouquets of daisies.

As soon as I had my own home with flower beds to play in, I made sure to plant daisies. Each flower that grew made my heart smile.

I could feel love reflected and passed down.

So when we moved into our house here in Florida and the first spring rolled around, I went to the store, bought a couple daisy plants and put them in our front bed. The daisies grew and I would cut the blooms… and then the plant would be gone?! True story. For four years I planted daisies, cut some blooms and then the plant just disappeared. Weird. My only guess was that some animal was eating to the roots. Maybe a rabbit?

And then one day in year 5, I looked out the window and dear old Mr. Bruce (the gentleman who mowed our almost 1 acre lot, who was from Bastrop, LA with an accent to match, which I adored because it reminded me of my dad’s side of the family, and who was never without a cigarette in his mouth) was shaking his head in my flower bed. And he bent down and plucked my daisies from the bed! Like a weed. He was weeding away my daisies. For four years he had weeded away my daisies! Oh, Mr. Bruce. Those “weeds” were my treasures.

When my daughter was old enough to play in the dirt with me I would have her help me plant flowers. And as soon as she could recognize letters I bought some zinnia seeds to plant because her first letter was also “Z”. They quickly became my favorite backyard flower. I love them for a million reasons, not least of which is because they will always be our special flower.

But here’s the thing with zinnias, they also look like weeds. They bloom in a million different colors and sizes and they grow in crazy directions and in tall stalks. They are beautiful, but if you let them grow - wild and free - they 100% resemble weeds.

A dear friend texted me over the weekend and asked if I would plant-sit her zinnias while she was out of town. What that meant, she said, was that, ”they love to be cut, please come every day or every other day and cut as many as you want!… The more you cut the more they will grow.”

So this morning Buddy and I headed towards her home to cut some zinnias, her beds adjacent to the bayou. Sunrise, morning air, water and my favorite backyard flowers. It was lovely.

As I sorted through stalks, clipped with scissors and gathered flowers in my hands I recognized a truth in front of me. We often dismiss and pluck away what we think are weeds, ahead of nurturing, understanding and discovering beauty that awaits us. We sometimes, perhaps often, in this world of instant gratification forget that the bloom, the best part, can take time to grow. And that when it does, when we let things grow wild and free, what’s found often fills our hearts. It’s gorgeous in a million ways.

Plant daisies, plant zinnias, clip them and cut them. And plant things for yourself too. Water and nurture that which you love and let it grow, wild and free.