Friday, January 30, 2009

A Small Promise

When I woke up this morning, something seemed a bit different in the plant window.
Months ago I planted some sweetpeas in a big pot. I've had luck with growing morning glories indoors, but I'd never tried these before, and had no idea what to expect. From what I'd been told, it sounded like they could be a bit fussy, even when planted outdoors, so I was pleased when they sprouted and started vining. Still, I was beginning to wonder if that was all I was going to get. I can't quite recall when I planted them, but I think it was early September. I had assumed by now I'd either have blooms or a pot ready for a new experiment. Some of the oldest vines began dying off, but plenty of them still seemed vigorous, and a few new ones even started sprouting. I liked the look of the vines themselves, with their curly tendrils, and was content to consider the experiment a qualified success if this was as far as it went. I hadn't even seen anything that looked like flower buds yet.

So imagine my delight this morning when the first thing I noticed across the room was a mysterious white shape in the window.

So far the scent is very faint, and I have to be careful not to brush against the scented geranium (see lower left in top photo) when I lean over to sniff it, since its lemony smell easily overwhelms anything else. But I've definitely caught a faint whiff of sweetpea.
Maybe this will be the only blossom I get out of it. Maybe my room will never be filled with the perfume of sweetpeas as I hoped, but I'm still feeling like the experiment just got more successful. Amazing how something as simple, even predictable as a flower will feel miraculous.
Happy Almost Groundhog Day.


Eric said...

Take a lesson from the sweetpea. Blossom, my brother.

Greg said...

You see, I told you Spring was right around the corner.

And I'll second Eric's encouragement: stand in the sunshine, my friend, and unfurl your sweet petals!


Marc said...

Hmmm...this feels like a page from the Midnight Garden. :-)

Sweetpeas are lovely as a flower, but the scent is a bonus. Hoping your sweetpeas bloom and grow profusely!

EB said...

I can hardly believe you've got a sweet pea blooming in New York in January: wonders never cease! I'm inspired...

Jeaux said...

I love the sweet pea... it's the flower of my birth-month: April. Besides its lovely fragrance the petals, so membranous and feminine, fold in upon themselves in a coy and charming way.

It was always a thrill to bring something to flower in the middle of the winter in NY when I lived there. I used to dream of having a greenhouse, which seemed to me the ultimate luxury, better than sailboat... a kind of mid-winter miracle, a roomful of spring, surrounded by falling snow, whose alchemy consisted of little more than mere panes of glass.

You realize I hope that a sweet pea will bloom indoors for only the sweetest of souls. Enjoy.

Gillian said...

My heart is touched...a single pure sweetpea...conjured up amidst the cold and snow.
My mother had a dream last night, which featured her (late) mother, and it was one in which she saved a little boy from drowning in the river, but not before conquering her fear of stairs without railings....a magical, mystical visit from worlds beyond our understanding. Why is this relevant?
Sweetpeas were her favourite bloom. Your sweetpea showed up-and so did ours. I miss her. This makes me so happy. A sign of sorts.
Thankie Pats, from the depths of my soul.

Gillian said...

Oh too, you may think me ignorant or the like for not posting your award. I am having trouble posting sidebar links, and sidebar images. Typepad still challenges me...and I will post on it just as soon as I can get one of my Typepad friends to help me out. HTML isn't my strong suit. It isn't as friendly as Blogger. When I do get it into my sidebar, I will do some acknowledgements and hat tipping your way my friend.
Happy almost Groundhog Day.
I'm heading south I think, the Bahamas has my name written all over it.

Java said...

'Tis amazing how much hope bursts forth from such a tiny delicate flower. May you have many more lovely little sweet pea flowers filling your window and your world.

Birdie said...

Since I am cursed with the Black Thumb of Death, I must enjoy others' successes with greenery. This is lovely. It must be so satisfying to be the instrument of such beauty.

Sooo-this-is-me said...

The sun will get stronger, your days will get longer so I think you may have many more surprises yet. :)

Marta Rose said...

wow, i'm totally inspired. thanks.

xo marta

Butch said...

You do have a green thumb!

tornwordo said...

That's so cool. I've got an orchid that Serge was ready to throw away after not having bloomed for a year. But now it is going to open up any day now. Happy February!

Patrick said...

Eric and Greg: I hadn't thought of that, thank you.

Marc: yes, it was walks and growing things that first connected me and Greg. I can't wait to see what he comes up with, in his new digs. And I'm champing at the bit to see what your garden does this year.

EB: Yes, while I knew that it was possible it might work, I still feel like a small miracle occurred. I'm feeling very blessed.

Jeaux: I have always longed for a greenhouse too, but had never thought of it in the way you so poetically put it. Yes, alchemy, that is part of this experience for me. You're too kind. I'd love to take credit for this bloom, and certainly I've done all I can, but I think the southern window and big pot gets most of the credit.

Gillian: Is it any wonder that both you and Jeaux would have your own personal connections with sweetpeas? I'm so glad this connected you to such a lovely dream, and memory. And don't fret at all about the award. I don't have mine permanently posted either, and it was never meant to be a chore, just a note of appreciation. Post it if and when you want.

Java: Thank you, Dear, I hope the same for you.

Birdie: I'll always be happy to share my growing things with you. You've probably heard that the most common way to kill houseplants is by OVER watering, right? In other words, by doing too much. I don't know about you, but that has been a useful thing to remember in my world.

Steven: I hope you're right. I think I now know what to look for in the way of buds. Fingers crossed.

Marta: Anytime, my friend. And I will take you up on your offer to see your garden soon.

Butch: Well, I also only share the successes here on the blog, it must be acknowledged.

Tornwordo: I look forward to seeing that orchid when it blooms. I now have a hyacinth which is about to start blooming too. Again, fingers crossed.
Happy February to you too, my friend.