The best time to plant

A question had been pressing on me all day: “Should I plant the flowers?” It was a pretty silly question to ask, since the whole point of buying the flowers in the first place was to get them out of their little plastic nursery pots and into some larger, prettier containers where they could flourish and grow and brighten up the patio. It was also a perfect day to be working outside. Clear. Not too hot. Low humidity. Somehow, no mosquitoes. Surely it was a miracle of a day and perfect for planting. Still, I watched hours go by as I wrestled with the question. And why was there even a question?

A bit of backstory is in order here …

For various reasons, my husband Charlie and I didn’t get to our local garden center this year until June 14. We planned to pot up the plants the following day. Except that the next morning I got hit with COVID. I spent three weeks absolutely flattened by the virus and then another week struggling to get back on my feet. Then there was summer vacation, followed by more travel—to spend time with the new (first!) grandbaby and to visit other family along the route. In this way, four more weeks went by.

It was now August 23, more than two months since we’d bought the plants. It was the day I described a moment ago as being so perfect for working outside and taking care of those plants that were still languishing in their original little pots. Strangely, though, I was faced with inexplicable inertia, a lack of purpose that I didn’t understand. Why did I feel so tired of mind, heart, and body every time I thought about taking care of the flowers? Why was there so much resistance to this simple bit of work? I decided to give myself a timeframe: one hour. I could do that, right?

It wasn’t until I’d been working with the plants for a while that I got a clue about my resistance and lethargy. The answer actually came in the form of a third question: Why get the patio looking beautiful now, when summer was almost over? We’re more than two months past the summer solstice and less than a month from the autumnal equinox. In my mind, frost is practically right around the corner. Why spend time creating something with such a short shelf life?

There was more, though—deeper stuff—as I realized that lately this is how I’ve been thinking about my life. Ever since I turned 70 a year and a half ago, I find that I’m a bit obsessed about my potential longevity. I wonder how much more time I’ll have to spend with my husband, if there’s any chance I’ll see my grandson graduate from high school, or how many more concerts I might be able to play. Will I have time to finish writing not only books in progress but also book projects I have in mind? Hounded by these questions, hearing, in the words of poet Andrew Marvell, “Time’s winged chariot, hurrying near,” it often feels impossible for me to focus on the very things I most want to do.

But there was a lesson in the act of transplanting the flowers—which, by the way, took only two hours to do. Working with the plants revealed to me that at any stage of life the important thing is to do the things we can, the things we want to do, and not stress unduly about them or about where we are on life’s journey. There’s a saying that goes, "The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is now." The point is, the past is done, we can never know how many tomorrows will be ours, and the only time we have is each single, present moment.

Can I take that message fully to heart and move forward with things I want to accomplish, without letting it take hours, days, weeks, or even months before I just go ahead and do them? Happily, now—at least until the frost hits—I have a patio bright with flowers to remind me of just that.