Botanica Dreaming | Becoming Me
There is something about the turning of the season. Change. For better or worse. How are we to know what the change will bring? There is the lure of something different - a shift - a slide, into a new phase of the year bringing with it new beginnings and great potential. Or perhaps sometimes we are relived that the old season is fading, melting into the past along with memories of faces, places and moments that are soon to be history.
Spring at The Willow House seems to be rapidly making way for summer. Daylight savings has arrived and with it a burst of warmth, a promise of what is to come. Winter had seemed brief this year, coming late and leaving somewhat earlier than usual and I wondered what, exactly, had happened in between. Barely had I time to bring out my boots, wooly hat and coats of many colors before all of a sudden I was scrabbling through my wardrobe looking for something light to wear because the forecast was predicting 20 degrees.
Last time I was at The Willow House winter had been sending wild winds and lashing rain upon the Valley. I remember the torrents of water rushing along the culverts at the side of the road and naked branches standing stark against threatening skies. Piccinniny Creek had been gushing and gurgling her way joyously through the yard pretending to be a grown up river, imagining herself to be big and powerful and important.
Although buffeted by the elements, the garden had slept, wrapped safely in a dark green and earthy brown blanket, beautiful in its patience. The ground beneath the Willow tree had squelched under foot, a slippery slide heading straight to the creek - a booby trap for unsuspecting visitors, human and animal alike. Yet, almost imperceptibly, even then change was underway. It would not be long before tiny lacelike fronds of green would begin to burst along the tree branches, kissed by early spring warmth. All around the town, the camellias, magnolias and wisterias would dance and flirt with the weak sunshine that would tease them from their winter repose.
I could not help but be drawn to the Valley, regardless of the season. I have such fond childhood memories of the drenching spring rain that makes the new foliage glow with luminescence; cool mornings that promise warm afternoons and the first touch of spring sunshine on bare winter white arms. No matter what has come before - no matter the struggle through dark winter months - spring always brings hope.
Sitting in quiet contemplation and gazing into the pale late afternoon light, I ponder upon the process of change. Questions dance around my mind: what makes a difference to life? When do you stop being one person and become another? How is personal growth or change measured? Who in our lives bears witness to this growth? Very rarely does such change happen overnight although to some it may seem like this is the case. Usually there is a slow, imperceptible change not unlike that which happens in the garden. The difference is that the garden doesn’t think about the process, it just follows a pattern, guided by the warmth of the air and soil that nourishes from below. Yet change for humans is often so very hard. Our egos and minds, our habits, emotions and fears get in the way, tangling up our motivations and desires with the expectations of others.
I breathe in the peace of the garden as it settles quietly around me. A faint sweet fragrance fills the air, the gentle spring blooms relishing their moment in time before the heady scents of summer burst with a floral fanfare not to be ignored. Aunt Ruby was going to be here in the morning.
Dear Aunt Ruby, her energy knows no bounds. Recently home from her annual winter sojourn to the warmer climate up north, she will be here this weekend to weave her magic with the garden, gently tending the earth to prepare it for late spring planting. She never seems to tire of travelling the highway from her city home. Regularly traversing up and down, she has worn a path over the passage of time, a path that has marked any number of changes over the years, both within herself, her family and the community around her. I wonder how she perceives herself these days.
Lately I have begun to see people as human ‘becomings’, not human beings as such. Time shifts us, whether we like it or not. I know Aunt Ruby misses the years when we were all children; the noise and bustle, chaos and cuddles. Yet that time has to shift; we all have to grow up, move on and grow into ourselves, like a puppy growing into oversized paws. I wonder where my ‘becoming’ will take me over the years that are yet still to come. At birth our bodies are perfectly formed miniature versions of our biological selves, yet our inner world - our hearts and minds and spirits, are but tiny sparks of possibility, yet to become us.
For some these sparks are tended lovingly, nurtured into a whole sense of self. For others, the sparks are dampened by circumstance - the trajectory of life held back by pain and sorrow. Yet, just like the bulb that lies in the cold winter earth, a spark of hope can be lit by the warmth and kindness from another person or a shift in something seemingly unrelated to ourselves. Becoming is always a possibility, no matter what stage of life we are in. I breathe in the cool evening air, allowing it to trace around my own inner landscape. I inhale deeply into the places where I sense tightness and resistance. Slowly the passage of my breath begins to ease the constrictions, massaging and smoothing the knots of worry that travel with me like stowaways hidden far from sight.
The stillness of dusk settles around me. A lawnmower splutters into silence in a distant yard. An image of Aunt Ruby hovers in my mind’s eye as I think about the weekend before me: a lazy morning enjoying coffee, pastries and real conversation - not heavy, just heartfelt; a trip to the organic farmer’s market for fresh seasonal produce and then a gentle grounding afternoon in the garden - relaxing, revitalizing and soul soothing. Here in the hills, far away from the hustle and bustle of my daily life, I cherish time with my dear aunt – her stories, her warmth and her humour sooth me. Time with her here in this magical place never fails to rejuvenate me and reset my internal compass to true north. She reminds me of what really matters and helps me, as she always has, to move closer to myself.
Words: Katrin Oliver - Yarra Valley Author
Botanica Dreaming
Katrin Oliver brings the spirit of Botanica Editions: The Willow House to life through the Story of Telling and a series of bedtime stories, as she shares the subtleties of this land and place in the Yarra Valley.
