In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says to his followers, “Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these” (Matthew 6:28,29). I can assure you, I am considering the lilies and the coneflowers and the hydrangeas and the anemones and a few others I can’t even identify. The flowers in my yard have taken over my life.

I feel it each spring. With the first little pointy hosta poking through, I get a little rush or joy and then my anxiety rises. Will my perennials come up? Will the deer nibble them to unattractive nubbins? What should I move this year? That spot looks bare. I need to get something new there. Will I have color all summer? Are the tall plants tall enough?  I need to weed and when shall we get mulch? How many bags? Is it warm enough for planting annuals? If I don’t get to the nursery early, all the best choices will be picked over. Should I go with a green and white theme or stick to pinks? Why didn’t that anemone come up?

I like flowers. I truly do. When I am sick or celebrating, I hope someone comes with flowers. I am the woman who can’t resist the very affordable arrangements at Trader Jo’s, right there by the door. I enjoy botanical gardens and arboretums. The colors and variety touch my need for beauty in my life.

When our kids were young, I had perfect excuses for not working in the garden. How could I tend to elaborate plantings around the house when I spent the summer driving kids to softball, tennis, and swimming lessons? And I took classes and visited my parents. Flowers weren’t a big priority and it didn’t bother me much. With tuition and fees and shoes for all, spending hundreds on plants wasn’t an option.

However, when we moved out to the country, I had the challenge of a new house with no landscaping.  Our young children had grown. At first I survived on gifted plants which soon became a bit wild and untended. Neither I nor my orderly German husband could handle that. Then came the decision making. Which bushes and where? Do we figure it out or pay for a plan? How much money can we actually spend on landscaping?

Gradually, we did figure it out. There are bushes and plants around most of the house. Some have died, but most have lived. Some look weary and need to be replaced, but others come up like faithful friends.  I accept the fact that landscaping is a never ending story. I have recipes of sorts that help me fill pots of flowers.

But I am not confident or free from worry. Who is visiting this summer? I have a green-thumbed brother who can make anything grow and always wants to walk around the house and stroll out to the garden when he visits. Always kind and complimentary, Ed should be no threat, but I want him to be impressed. I remember the day my book club decided to take a walk around the yard before coming into the house. I tried to stay a step ahead, pulling the errant weeds. When my husband Lee’s sister comes, I worry that she will notice I no longer have most of the daylilies she generously gifted me some years ago. I have yet to invite my “Master Gardener” friend over during the growing season. Friends who post perfect garden shots may be unfollowed.

Many parts of landscaping are two-person jobs, which adds to the stress. My husband, a willing and strong helper, has little patience for my need to do it all at once (or at least before our small group comes for dinner). He wants me to relax and do the minimum. I’m not very good at minimum (she said while filling the trunk with annuals). Add the watering list when I take off to help with grandkids for a week and we have issues. To be gracious, he does willingly help, water, and admire the final product. Then he tells me to chill.

I am not proud of this unreasonable anxiety over something that should be pleasurable and satisfying. Contrary to how it may appear, I am a grown-up. Yet I have more or less missed the whole point Jesus was making when he talked about considering the lilies. He was hoping to reduce my anxiety and concern about outward appearances. I am working on it. I remind myself that not everyone has the same hobbies and perfect landscaping may not be my thing. After all, reading is good for the soul too, and I’m good at that. Besides, no true friend will think less of me if my flowers don’t look like state fair winners. I really want to enjoy flowers as part of God’s created order, a bit of beauty that softens our world. I want to enjoy the simple pleasure of messy flowers and ragged bushes that bloom impulsively.

Maybe the best thing I can do is read more Mary Oliver poems. She had a relaxed view of nature and loved wild flowers. She admired the simple life of her grandmother. And maybe one of my perennials will be like the bleeding hearts and I will be a bit like the grandmother in this poem.

            The Bleeding-heart

            I know a bleeding-heart plant that has thrived

            for sixty years if not more, and has never

            missed a spring without rising and spreading

            itself into a glossy bush, with many small red

            hearts dangling. Don’t you think that deserves

            a little thought? The woman who planted it

            has been gone a long time, and everyone

            who saw it in that time has also died or moved

            away and so, like so many stories, this one can’t

            get finished properly. Most things that are

            important, have you noticed, lack a certain

            neatness. More delicious, anyway, is to

            remember my grandmother’s pleasure when

            the dissolve of winter was over and the green

            knobs appeared and began to rise, and to cre-

            ate their many hearts. One would say she was

            a simple woman, made happy by simple

            things. I think this was true. And more than

            once, in my long life, I have wished to be her.

Oh to be “a simple woman made happy by simple things.” I do love my flowers and bushes, but will admit that I will smile at the first frost when my landscaping life takes a break.

Mary Oliver. “The Bleeding-heart.” New and Selected Poems: Volume Two. 1993.