By Lucia Ferrara Bettler
Who could not fall in love with a flower? How could you ignore one?
That little being whose soul must be acknowledged and met? Georgia
O'Keefe once said that people rarely see a flower, for “to see it takes
time, like to have a friend takes time.”
 We require flowers. They are a gardener’s spiritual nourishment,
bringing us joy and beauty, love and comfort. Imagine a milestone
birthday celebration, a wedding, a Valentine’s Day, the birth of a child,
or the funeral of a loved one without flowers. Flowers open up our
hearts just as they open up a room, creating warmth and beauty.
While we don’t normally eat the flower bouquet from a wedding, or
a Valentine’s Day arrangement, we savor it with our eyes, taking in the
beauty and meaning that the blossoms convey.
Janice Ross, a friend and Houston potter, once told me that she
was ready to sell a particular teapot because she had “eaten it.” She
went on to say that the Japanese have an expression to explain that
type of nourishment. It means: I have taken it all in, it has become a part
of me, there is no need to hold on to it any longer, and I can part with it. I
have never forgotten that concept. Eat flowers with your eyes and they
become a part of you.
 What shall we eat next? A poem perhaps, a song, a piece of embroidered
linen, a handmade necklace…the possibilities are endless.
Our lives, without the presence of such beauty, become anxious.
There is so much to be fearful of these days. Are we in a recession?
Is the price of gasoline really going up again? Will this war ever end?
Is technology edging out the human connection? Will we be able to
teach the young to truly cherish the earth, our mountains and oceans,
our beloved plants and animals?
We are afraid of illness. We are afraid of aging. Are we
doing okay? Do we feel fulfilled and accepted? Are our
loved ones safe? How do we create hope? We do what brings
us together as humans: we celebrate—sitting at the table,
eating a meal, breaking bread together; we grow flowers. We
create peace.
In Mexico, there is a wonderful feast of flowers that occurs
in late October and early November. To let go of the fear of
death, the Mexicans celebrate it. Christianity merged with
ancient Aztec harvest rites and saints joined the gods at a festival for
the dead. Celebrating life conquers death. In Oaxaca, I saw home altars
filled with fruit, flowers, food and gifts. In preparation, the markets
were brimming with marigolds, calla lilies, baby’s breath, jewel toned
dahlias, gladioli and Mexican mint marigold.
Even the simplest graves and home altars
were covered with flowers to welcome the
spirits that had passed on and returned for a
few days near All Soul’s Eve.
This past November, I witnessed
Old-World reverence and customs in
the cemeteries of Krakow, Poland; the
celebration was not as elaborate as Mexico’s
feasts, but just as moving. At night, we took the tram to Krakow’s largest cemetery to see
hundreds of votive lights intermixed with
armloads of flowers to honor the ancestors.
Out of death comes life: the flower creates
seeds, dies, and new life is born. Or, as May
Sarton wrote,“...the door is always open into
the “holy” – growth,
birth, death. Every
flower holds the whole
mystery in its short
cycle…”
Most of us have favorite childhood
memories of flowers. My mother grew
red spider lilies that bloomed
every September. I remember the
fragrant sweet peas climbing up her fence. She particularly
loved a small antique rose, called Perle
D’Or, plump and peach colored. I grow
them now and remember her. Flowers have
a language all their own, and there are
dictionaries that can tell you what each
individual flower means. Every flower holds two messages: the folklore
and history of the flower, and our
own personal memories of them.
They evoke the past and celebrate
the present.
Page 2
|
|
