Blueberry Lessons

Three blueberry bushes are waiting to be planted by the stone wall between the Chapel and our meetinghouse. They're lovely little plants waiting patiently in pots for human friends to dig holes, pour water, and get on with it already. In the meantime, they're busy teaching.

The first lesson has to do with waiting well. I don't sense that any flower, bush, or tree has every truly claimed a sense of "get on with it" regarding planting, pruning, picking, fertilizing, or really anything. As much of a model of fruitfulness as our plant siblings may be, they make it clear to me that doing is overrated when held in contrast with being. I am confident that if I could chat with blueberry bushes, they would be share some embarrassment for me about my monkey mind fretting. They would probable encourage me to sit still long enough to appreciate things like ants, scents, and buds. A dear friend just sent me this poignant gem by Lynn Ungar:

And you - what of your rushed and useful life? Imagine setting it all down - papers, plans, appointments, everything - leaving only a note: "Gone to the fields to be lovely. Be back when I'm through with blooming."

Another learning is related to the first, and it has to do with having enough patience to let the plants sit on the lawn for a bit. I am no ace gardener, but I know that most plants fare better if they're left in their pots while they grow accustomed to a new setting. Getting de-potted and having one's roots yanked "free" is - it seems - only made more traumatic by getting such a treatment fresh out of the car after a ride home from the nursery. Additionally, humans appreciate having a chance to look over proposed planting sites, as opposed to showing up some Sunday soon to find the surprise of holes dug, mulch spread, and odd growing things entrenched. Change is both a constant and a stressor, so it helps a bit to give ourselves a heads-up when we can, time to prep and adjust. (By the way, if you have input about the location of these three plants, please call the office by May 15 at 542-5721.) 

One more lesson from the blueberry life is that of interdependence. Consider the miracle caught in the science that tells us that plants need our exhalations of CO2, essentially a waste product for us. Our green siblings grab this emission and use it along with sunlight and water to create two things without which humans would perish: sugar and oxygen, listed in no clear order of importance. The church has found sufficient wisdom to create a dedicated pollinator garden, which we hope will eventually serve as home for the blueberry bushes. In a nod to our appreciation for the diversity and beauty of all things, we've set up this small plot of nurtured soil so that bees, butterflies, birds, and other pollinating siblings may find the shelter and food they need to complete an unimaginable annual trek. Twice.  

One final lesson, though I am sure there are more: generosity. Most plants bear fruit as a matter of course. It's tempting to brush this off as an evolutionary move simply designed to tempt drooling creatures to spread seeds, but I feel more happening here. Blueberries are a gift, and planting bushes that will eventually yield them for birds and bears and bipeds alike is so sweet in its own way. I'm humbled and proud that a congregation that does such a thing willingly keeps company with me. And I am grateful that these bushes will be a living lesson or challenge for us all to consider just what lovely, sweet, nurturing fruit we will offer to the universe.