It’s April 27 and we’re in the midst of another stay-at-home order, our third under different names since the beginning of the pandemic over a year ago. Two nights ago I once again covered some of the tender plants in our garden against the threat of frost. After record-breaking warm temperatures earlier this month, some plants like the bleeding hearts are flowering two or three weeks ahead of schedule and are very vulnerable to frost damage. What season are we in?
It’s a season of global sadness, anxiety and confusion and I find myself turning to the natural world for solace, as so many others have. In the period of the first lockdown in the UK in the spring of 2020, there was a 2,024% increase in the number of page views of webcams run by the various Wildlife Trusts across the country. Few among us expected that we would be in a similar state a year later, but even though COVID-19 has once again succeeded in stopping “non-essential” business, travel, sports, entertainment and social gatherings, it has not stopped spring. And this year, more than ever before, we have had a front-row seat for the performance by spring’s messengers. Last summer, we planted a variety of native flowering plants in our garden—mayapple, bloodroot, trillium, large-flower bellwort, jack-in-the-pulpit, and more—and for the past three weeks we have been watching these newcomers to our property emerge from the ground and (in some cases) flower. Not only that, but two weekends ago (on our weekly long run), we ventured into an area of Meadowlily Woods Environmentally Significant Area we had not visited previously and discovered a forest full of wildflowers—yellow dogtooth violets, red and white trilliums, springbeauty—and were awed by the beauty on our doorstep. At the same time, we were humbled by the awareness of our privilege, in that those most vulnerable to COVID-19 often don’t have access to their own private yard or the ability to travel to natural areas outside their neighbourhood.
What has become apparent, as the emerging plants in our backyard transform from day to day, is that the shoot that first pokes up through the soil often bears little resemblance to the fully-realized plant. Take, for example, the mayapple, which looks like a tiny unopened umbrella when it first appears.
One week later the umbrella has opened, and we can see in the leaves the resemblance to a duck’s foot that inspired the scientific name for the plant, Podophyllum (from the Greek podos (foot) and phyllon (leaf).
Soon, the coppery sheen on the leaves will disappear and the leaves will become a vivid glossy green. Around this time, a large flower bud will appear beneath the leaves that next month will become a large, solitary, nodding white flower.
When I think of the transformation of the mayapple from the little umbrella poking through the ground to the flowering plant, I am reminded of the words in 1 John 3:2: “Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him… ” As with God’s children, the mature expression of the mayapple is not evident in its emergent manifestation, but the plant unfolds true to form. The author of those words from 1 John was energized by eschatological expectations when writing, for he adds, “for we shall see him as he is”—yet by co-operating with the transformative power of Creation we may all progress over a lifetime toward a likeness with our paragon, who (for the Christian) is Jesus Christ. It has become commonplace to encourage each other to “be the best version of yourself”, but it goes without saying that the best version of your 12 year-old self looks different than the best version of your 40 year-old self. The mayapple is exactly what it is meant to be at each stage in its development. The person who has embraced growth as change can say, “I am God’s child now, but what I am to become is still to be revealed.”
Jesus told his disciples to learn from the way the wildflowers grow. By watching the native plants in our garden and the natural areas in London emerge this spring, I’ve identified some lessons about emergence, or becoming the person we aspire to be:
- What you see is not always what you get. There is little in the initial form of the mayapple to suggest what it will become. As we evaluate our own growth and that of those around us, we need to allow time for the process that has been initiated to achieve its intended purpose.
- Emergence is energized by both internal and external forces. It is the lifeforce in the root (or rhizome) that sends the little umbrella of the mayapple up through the soil, but the consistent warmth of the sun and encouraging rains confirm that it is time to grow. We can encourage positive change in others by serving as a positive role model, reinforcing good behaviours with affirmation, and providing non-judgmental accountability.
- Setbacks delay but do not prevent emergence. We have had four nights with sub-zero temperatures in the last week, and like an over-protective parent I covered the mayapples and other tender plants to prevent frost damage. Only now have I learned that young mayapple shoots have a good degree of frost-tolerance and can withstand temperatures down to -5° C. Disappointments and setbacks are inevitable in life and can do no more than delay the realization of what we are becoming unless we grant them a power they would not otherwise possess.
- Our emergence as a transformed people is rooted in our interconnectedness. The umbrella-topped mayapple stems which emerge above the ground grow from a shallow, creeping, branched underground rhizome. An entire colony of mayapple plants will grow in the forest from a single root. A rhizome provides an apt analogy for a horizontally-linked, non-hierarchical community of becoming, where the members support one another in thought, communication and aspiration.
In this season of disruption, nature is a consoling, inspiring and instructive force. As is God (for those who choose to believe in his existence and engagement with humankind), nature is waiting for us to listen to her voice of wisdom and instruction. Perhaps the pandemic is amplifying these voices, helping us to hear things like my little lessons from the mayapple. As journalist and naturalist Michael McCarthy writes, “This sense of nature as an unstoppable force has been strongly impressed on me… by the great world-historical event of the coronavirus, tragic paradox though that may be; nature, which has been lost to sight so widely, has suddenly been made visible once again by the pandemic… by people’s own need to seek out nature as a relief from unprecedented stress. Those who have sought it have not been disappointed in the natural world, in its ability to console us, repair us, and recharge us; most of all, it its ability simply to be there, often unrecognized and unacknowledged, but giving life to every one of us, even as human artifacts are crumbling all around.”
Unless otherwise noted, all text and photos © 2021 Edwin Wilson.
