Digging up plants to move them to a different yard location, to send them to the compost heap, or to give them a fresh pot to push around in is an activity that I have done mindlessly dozens and dozens of times. Even taking little veggie starts out of their 6-pak trays and plopping them into the soil is just part and parcel of the spring gardening protocol.
A few times over the years I have taken a moment of pause to consider what the plant might be experiencing as its roots were hacked at and its foliage was lifted high into the air. Less the norm and more the exception were the times that I slowed down enough to tune into the feelings of the particular plant I was domineering into my garden plan.
I remember a particularly ambitious undertaking of transplanting a large forsythia when I felt awful for the way I had to undermine its roots and violently waggle its branches until it finally freed from the earth. I had tyrannized it so much that I felt compelled to apply prayerful words and healing homeopathic remedies that soothed trauma and encouraged calm once it was safely nestled into its new location.
As I grew wiser and tuned in more, I began to acknowledge that living things don’t necessarily like to be disturbed and displaced. Even when the reason and the destination are in their best interest and will yield more health, more growth, more vibrancy, more fruit, or more happiness. (Yes, admittedly I also now allow that plants can emote.)
The process of becoming uprooted, moved (airlifted!), sometimes housed temporarily in a bucket with strangers and very sparse necessities like water, soil, and shade, and then ultimately replanted in a foreign environment is anxiety-producing indeed. Usually this happens without any choice!
Plants tend to express their stress with wilted leaves or delayed growth or flowering. Or if feeling really oppositional, a blatant loss of foliage. Or yes, sometimes there is even death. Those times are particularly rough for the confident and wishful gardener.
If all goes well though, and the transplants “take”, there is a sense of betterment. The yard is more beautiful, the plants have more space, the conditions are more optimal, growth is enhanced, and flourishing and thriving are palpable.
Transplanting might be considered then a beneficial and oft necessary part of a life well lived.
Change is good.
In the way that metaphors work and truths are disseminated through the lens of comparative story, I have my own transplantation going on.
And to be honest, I have never thought so much about the way that plants must feel when a spade nips their roots, or a toothy rake scratches the soil away from their trunk as I have lately. To be pulled up by the hair out of their comfortable pot, dangled in the air uncertainly, and then left to languish in the unknown garden path while the purveyor makes some decision, stares at their phone, fetches some lemonade, or the worst: has to make a quick run to the nursery:
Harrowing!
But yes, as I have uprooted myself from my house of 17 years and my city of 34 years, I have thought very keenly about all of those plants whose lives I disrupted in an entirely uncomfortable way whether I was trying to enhance their lives or was rather callously choosing when they’d had enough and into the green bin they went.
The point being that when I started to clear out my basement storage room, it felt like pushing a shovel in around sensitive roots.
When I put what I thought were my treasured belongings up for free on Buy Nothing, it felt like exposing deeply held roots to be harshly desiccated by sun and air.
When a realtor walked through my house and saw features with market appeal instead of rooms with memories of people doing regular run-of-the-mill people things, it felt like I had given up on my garden.
I even had the unsettling experience of hearing a sorrowful “why?” from one of my house plants when I gifted it to a friend. At least I had chosen to give it to someone who I knew would love it. Imagine if I had decided to dump it by the side of my garbage!
I know in the long run this transition is good. I know it is necessary for me in my life right now to make changes, to go on to new things, to write new chapters, and to learn new things.
But there is no denying the shock and stress, the discomfort and uncertainty, the sheer feeling of being disconnected from the safety of the ground and of flying through space untethered to place, or belongings, or even time.
For I am exactly like a plant which is being moved from one piece of land to another.
A notable difference is that I have choice. I enter into my state of transplantation with sovereignty of will. I may not know my outcome quite yet, but I can project my vision into it. I can counter my fears with my hopes. I know that I am inviting change. And I deeply trust that it is in my best interests and that I will be OK, if not completely wonderfully transformed into a phase of flourishing.
That is what I keep in my heart as I traverse this process of uprooting and moving. In my body I try to keep the feeling of what is happening right now for me. I won’t lie – it’s difficult to be present to so many uncomfortable and disparate emotions. And to not wish that this phase would just be over already.
So have compassion for our plant friends when your decisions about their fate involve an abrupt change of conditions and a generous helping of stress. It’s an intense experience to transplant oneself, even when the outcome is projected to be good!
Oh friend.... I am so thinking of you during this time of change and new beginnings. As usual, a beautiful post that feels very authentic as we are given a glimpse into your world during this transition. With risk comes reward and I am certain you will be greatly rewarded for taking this leap of faith! I cannot wait to see what is on the other side! xoxo