Nature teaches me many lessons when I am still enough to hear her wisdom.

 Long mushy post warning:

The cactus saga continues. The day after I posted the photo of Randall and I working on the cactus together when we first moved in, a third of it broke off, randomly, landing on our baby lemon tree. She is old and tired. Our lemon tree was the first Christmas gift we bought ourselves after we moved in, and every February, we take a family photo in front of it to watch the growth of the tree and the family alike. We didn’t this year. We’ve just been so busy, and it must have slipped our minds. Though just a few years old, the tree yielded 20+ lemons this year, and we eagerly awaited the day we could harvest them. 

Cactus Jack just fell out of nowhere. OK, we’ll put this on our list of things to do.

We thought we were out of the woods. We’ve been making a lot of repairs to our home lately and are at the tail end of the process. Then this. 

Seeing the strength of the cactus deteriorating makes us think maybe we should just cut it down and avoid further safety risks. I’m just sad. She has spoken to me over the years in many ways. How she displays her strength and valor, how she includes the plants and animals around her, and how beautiful that little ecosystem is. The birds build nests in her spines and eat her fruit. The hummingbirds drink the nectar of the flowers she produces. The lizards and mice scurry along in her spikes, and the butterflies land on the lantana that grows within her. The birds of paradise shares space with her newly forming spines, and the dog basks in her shade. 

It’s a perfectly balanced and beautiful depiction of strength and honor. She could destroy anything that touches her but chooses to live in harmony with her little world, a diverse and thriving community. 

Cactus Jack’s fate is yet to be determined, so we will continue to enjoy our morning coffee, watching for the lovebirds to land on the highest spine. We will continue intently observing the blooms, for they last only 12 hours and bloom in the moonlight, and we will continue awaiting the new family of birds that inhabit the same nest year after year. We will appreciate our sanctuary, where our bond has grown with small but meaningful moments woven together to immortalize the spirit of our love and our home.

Randall rescued our little lemon tree with a machete and pure muscle, and I reluctantly cut away the remaining baby lemons to prepare for a season of restoration and growth. Like the cactus, parts of ourselves fall away when we outgrow them, and like the lemon tree, parts of ourselves are damaged by others, and we need loving care to be restored. Nature teaches me many lessons when I am still enough to hear her wisdom.

Last night, she bloomed, and this morning I was lucky enough to catch it.