Rrrrrrriiiiipppppppp!

Over the years I have had houseplants that have become pot bound and needed to be transplanted. Huge Boston ferns, Dieffenbachia, and Ivy, are three of the more memorable ones I have had to deal with. The fern was the worst, I must say.

It would always take me time to work up to the transplantation task because I didn't like to do it. It made a mess, the plant was hard to handle and I was never quite sure if I was doing it right. It had to be done though, so I would make a plan and set to work.

First, I would go searching for the right size pot, and buy the prettiest one I could afford. The next purchase would be a bag of new soil and plant food. I then had to find - some free time, a work area where I could make a mess and not harm anything, and last but not least, some energy or the will to start the job and just get at it! Once all my "ducks were in a row" I would set to the task and be oh so glad when it was all done.

The plants thrived and looked great in the long run, but oh the trauma and the wilt of the transplantation process. Roots would be ripped and torn as the plant was loosen and removed from the old pot; soil was scattered and lost when the plant was tipped over and tapped on the bottom or shaken vigorously to get it out of the old pot; and last but not least, dead and dying leaves were strewn around when they were cut away or broken off in the rigors of the move. Sometimes I would have to be ruthless and rip and tear the root ball apart when the plant needed to be thinned out before replanting. Not fun, but necessary.

New spots on sunny window sills were found for all the new pots, but the plants would look out of place and a bit lost in their big new pots at first. They were completely traumatized by the process and would droop terribly, not even lifting their heads to respond to their old friend the sunshine. I could almost hear them stomping their tiny little root feet while they pouted and said "I don't like it here. I hurt from all the ripping and tearing and I miss the parts you took away. "

That picture comes back to me clearly this morning as I sit here gazing at the riotous summer garden just outside the window beside the chair where I sit and write each day. It is an absolutely beautiful garden this year, just chock full of exuberant colour. It is almost as if it knows that this will be our last summer to enjoy its beauty, so it is sending us off with a blaze of glory as moving day fast approaches. I will miss the beauty of this garden.

Each and every day this summer I have been pulling up roots that have grown very deep in this familiar old "Pot" of mine, and I am feeling a bit traumatized by all the ripping and tearing. I know that I am pot bound here, and it is time for a move, but I have become so accustomed to this place. It is familiar and comfortable here in this old pot, and it just plain hurts to rip up roots and move.

I know, I know. I am bumping up against the edges of this pot, and my soil is old and needs some added nutrients, but is hard to leave the well known environment and move into the unknown. It would be so much easier to stay in this old pot in spite of the tangled and cramped conditions and depleted soil.

The new "pot" and "fresh soil" will do me a world of good, but oh the trauma and "wilt" of the transplantation process. Thirty-year-old roots grow very deep and won't let go easily. Some will break off and bits and pieces of them will remain in the old soil forever. I will grieve each small piece, but must look forward to the fresh growth that will take place in my "new pot".

We searched a long time for this new pot and bought the prettiest one we could afford. We have new soil to mix with the old (friends and family) and plant food (books and biking) to help us adjust to the move. I know that I will have to choose to lift my head to the sun in my new location and respond to the warmth there and the goodness in the new soil instead of drooping or moping around. First I must give myself time to adjust and relax so I can recover from the upheaval of the move and then I can start sending out new roots into the rich earth in the new location. I will have lots of room to grow, and will have many opportunities to meet new people, learn new things and see new sights.

So, the newspapers are all spread around in my workspace and I am just about to be turned on my head and knocked out of the old pot. The edges are all loosened and I am ready to go. Tap, tap, tap, shake, shake, shake - my new pot awaits.

There is no such thing as the pursuit of happiness, but there is the discovery of joy.
Joyce Grenfell

Here's to discovering joy in each new pot on any sunny window sill in life.