The Parable of the Hydrangea Bush

Last night I was out watering the plants after we finally got the two Muggles to bed. It was dark so I was using a flashlight to do it. Yes, I do have a sprinkler drip system to the plants, but it has been so hot lately that I wanted to make sure that they are alive. As I was out in the dark watering the plants, I had a thought about the hydrangeas. Thus was born the Parable of the Hydrangea Bush. 

Lady Hiva and I both love Hydrangeas. We both love flowers in general, but especially some and Hydrangeas are some of them (Peonies, Gerber Daisies, Gardenias, Orchids, Lavender, and Plumerias also are up there). When we built our new house, we decided that we wanted to have hydrangea bushes. So we went and bought several different types of hydrangeas. Nine in all--that is right, you read correctly, we bought nine different hydrangea bushes! 

And we live in the desert. 

We quickly learned that hydrangeas have an important preface in their name: hydra. Water. And we live in the desert. So the drip line twice a day sometimes is not enough in the hot, hot sun. Soon the hydrangeas became my babies. Because I WAS NOT going to let my green thumb Gramy Deanna down, or disappoint my farmer Grandpa Normy, or admit I allowed flowers to die to my Forest Ranger Grandpa Ames, or let Grandma Ginger show up and see dead garden when hers is always immaculate. These plants were going to stay alive! I watered them, I googled why their leaves were turning brown. I watered them some more. I fertilized them. I agonized over every small leaf that shriveled. It was a rough summer and then I hoped and prayed that during the  two winters they would survive. They did. They had done their part, so summer roles around again and it is my turn up to bat. 

It has become a common question in our home. As soon as I walk in the door, "Hi! I love you. Did you water the plants?" (Lady Hiva loves it! HAHA) If she has not, that is what I do before I do anything else. The result of this babying is some beautiful bushes this year. The whole garden has thrived. There is pops of color from early April to late November. It is something that both Lady Hiva and I are proud of. 

 Nearly all the hydrangea bushes are thriving. They are massive compared to what they were when we bought them. They have hundreds of flowers on them. In fact, all of the flowers have thrived this year. But do you know which one I am the most proud of? It is this one:

 The one that is skinny and looking half dead. I am most proud of it because it was planted originally in the front of the house, but due to some leaves in the pipes near where it was planted, it has been dug up seven times! Every time we replanted it. A few times we nearly threw it away. The plumbers careless with it. It looked like it was not going to survive. I eventually moved it to another spot and replaced it with a healthier looking bush. Again, almost threw it out.  The new spot is between two other hydrangea bushes on the side of the house. They too have had their struggles because they are in a wind tunnel between our house and our neighbor. All the wind from the North blows right between our houses. They get so rattled nearly every day. Their leaves look rough and often are riddled with holes.

But miracles happen. These three plants began to thrive. Despite one being dug up seven times and all three of them braving the harsh winds, they have grown. And all three of them have flowered! They are not the most beautiful bushes in the garden. They do not have nearly the amount of blossoms that all the other flowers have. But they are my favorite. Because I can see what they have become despite all they have been through.

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 It would be easy to compare them to the flowers all around them. They do not measure up to the height and splendid colorful beauty of the rest. They are not located in the prime spots of the garden. But because I know where they have been, what they have had to overcome, and what they endure almost every day, they are my most favorite plants in the garden.

They still blossom. They still stretch their damaged and awkward branches as high and proud as they can be. They are perfect in their imperfection