This morning after the Corpus Christi Mass, celebrating the Real Presence of Jesus in the Holy Eucharist, my garden looked particularly lovely. Pictured above on the left: Petunia and Calibrachoa. On the right: Sweet Potato Vine, Rose, and Lobelia.
In his Holy Thursday homily, Pope Francis mentioned that over 60 priests had died in Italy from the Covid-19 virus after tending to the sick in the hospitals.
And then there was St. Marianne Cope. After many had declined the invitation, in 1883 she relocated to Hawaii to serve the ailing lepers. She wasn’t afraid of the contagion, and even after decades of service, she never contracted the disease.
To those who believe, there is only Life.
Every year I eagerly await the appearance of Rose Geraniums in the nurseries in June, and every year I grieve when they die in autumn. I never tire of their lovely scent.
Last fall I decided to take a cutting to see if I could keep it alive through the winter. For months it showed no signs of rooting, yet it remained fragrant. Then in January, it finally began to put out roots and new foliage. My dilemma, Gentle Reader, is when to plant it. Will it survive?
All I can do is hope.
The Humble Petunia
Although I love to look at pictures of exotic gardens with unusual plants, my own garden is a humble garden. I am content with geraniums, nasturtiums, lobelia, and of course, the humble petunia. The one pictured above is a survivor. I planted it last year, and it survived the winter down to 18° F. It didn’t grow during the cold season, but it remained green, and as soon as spring came, it grew so tall and blossomed so abundantly that it became top heavy and I had to cut it back almost to the ground. Undeterred, it is growing again, promising to be as prolific as ever. It reminds me of a quote by St. Therese of Lisieux: “The brilliance of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not lessen the perfume of the violet or the sweet simplicity of the daisy….If all the lowly flowers wished to be roses, nature would lose its springtide beauty, and the fields would no longer be enameled with lovely hues….” (From The Story of a Soul)