Forest of the Plains

Despite the shame it brings to my Amish ancestors, I admit it. I feel pride about my African violet plant. This plant has a lot of history. I’ve had it for three years. It was a parting gift from our congregation in Indiana as we moved to Kansas. It’s grown wonderfully. It’s branched out and started new baby violets. It would bloom for months at a time. I’ve even named him Afro.

My ancestors would say that it serves me right for being prideful. My violet does not look so good right now. My best guess is that when our power was out for 3 days and the temperature got down to 35F INSIDE the house because of the ice storm earlier this month, Afro was unhappy. Had I been the caretaker that I thought I was, I would have taken Afro with us to the shelter. I think he will make it, but it will be a long recovery.

Luckily my ancestors also believed strongly in hope and grace. This morning while playing outside with the cat, I discovered a tiny tulip bulb that had started to sprout. (The cat had dislodged the bulb while using the flower bed as a liter box.) I’ve brought the bulb inside, potted it, and put it in the warm sunlight. It is wonderful to see something growing in the midst of the ice storm’s distruction. I may name this one Grace.