This is the time of year to deadhead the rhododendrons.
If you are confused by this pronouncement, I will explain. I was equally confused when, several years ago, my grandma notified me that the rhododendrons planted outside our house had finished flowering and that we needed to neatly lop off the shriveled-up blooms to make way for those of the following rhododendron season...clearing away the old to make room for the new, so to speak, so that the rhododendron bush could put all of its prolific plant energy into forming new buds instead of expending effort in shedding the old blooms.
Deadheading a rhododendron is surprisingly therapeutic, and has become one of my favorite, compulsive outdoor chores. When the extravagantly bright red and hot pink blooms of our rhododendron bushes fade away, I go out and gently snap off all of the top stalks. In my hand they look slightly skeletal, like large green daddy-long-legs.
Recently, as I deadheaded the bushes, I savored the solitary nature of my task, and reflected on its analogical significance.
There come times in our lives when we must clear away those withered parts of our soul that hinder new growth...there come times to clear away ugly attitudes and habits to allow for fresh buds of thought and practice to expand and eventually blossom in brilliant color.
Being careful not to break off the fragile new growth underneath -- the promise of future flowers -- we all must undergo, at different points in our lives, an internal deadheading. We do live, after all, in God's garden...
If you are confused by this pronouncement, I will explain. I was equally confused when, several years ago, my grandma notified me that the rhododendrons planted outside our house had finished flowering and that we needed to neatly lop off the shriveled-up blooms to make way for those of the following rhododendron season...clearing away the old to make room for the new, so to speak, so that the rhododendron bush could put all of its prolific plant energy into forming new buds instead of expending effort in shedding the old blooms.
Deadheading a rhododendron is surprisingly therapeutic, and has become one of my favorite, compulsive outdoor chores. When the extravagantly bright red and hot pink blooms of our rhododendron bushes fade away, I go out and gently snap off all of the top stalks. In my hand they look slightly skeletal, like large green daddy-long-legs.
Recently, as I deadheaded the bushes, I savored the solitary nature of my task, and reflected on its analogical significance.
There come times in our lives when we must clear away those withered parts of our soul that hinder new growth...there come times to clear away ugly attitudes and habits to allow for fresh buds of thought and practice to expand and eventually blossom in brilliant color.
Being careful not to break off the fragile new growth underneath -- the promise of future flowers -- we all must undergo, at different points in our lives, an internal deadheading. We do live, after all, in God's garden...
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