Frozen Greens & My Parallel Rebirth

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My plants were put in the van as we prepared to leave for our 5 hour trip north. These plants have been with me for the last 25 years dating back to early October, 1994 the time my father finally succumbed to the illness that slowly and surely claimed his physicality. We received a basket of plants from Mariann Kelly, who is my Godmother, and one of my longest enduring relationships. Mariann is now 98. She was my mom’s best friend and they were partners in crime for years & years, sharing the responsibility of first, watching their collective 14 children grow up, then, watching all of them somewhat harmoniously make their way in the world. When the kids were young Mariann & Sis would spirit away when they could, leaving the kids to Mrs. Laveen, an obese woman who made me PB&J sandwiches way too heavy on the PB. The mothers would go off, bowling, swimming, playing bridge or any other activity to keep their minds and spirits fresh. My dad and Mike, Mariann’s husband were also friends, as much as men of their age could be. In truth, they were dragged together by virtue of the strong connection their wives shared like so many male relationships of that time.

When the basket of greens arrived the day of my dad’s funeral I saw babies, mini plants to be nurtured and encouraged. I loved this idea more than flowers that live such a short time. these plants could last a long, long time. I and my ex took on the responsibility of adopting them and performing their transplants into terra cotta pots and giving them the attention they needed to flourish in the uncertain land of house-plantery. Flash forward.

We put the plants, and our lives stuffed into tens of boxes, inside the cargo van for their adventure to our new home the wind whipped making it feel like 24 below rather than the 4 degrees that was the wind-free temperature. The plants stood in the back of the van, having been put in at the least minute after the van had been warmed up so we could shut the door and they would be sheltered from the cold and harsh wind. For a moment the door was left open and I saw the largest plant, nearly 4 feet tall with many arms and leaves shudder in the cold. A foreshadowing of what was to come. E and I were driving in 2 different vehicles, me in my Subaru, he in the van and my ever present concern for these green living creatures spiked, as I felt the temperature of the outside air. But inside the van it was warm. All good. Let go and let’s go. 

When we arrived at our destination it was colder than the place we had left. Fools, I thought. But the beauty abounded as it usually does in the northwoods, the starkness of the white snow, nearly as tall as my largest plant, covered virtually everything except the upper trunks of the trees sticking up looking as though they were pleading to the heavens for a sliver of sun or momentary touch of warmth. The houses that sprung up had their chimneys spewing steam and smoke in a challenging attempts to keep the heat flowing.  

We arrived at our home free of incident, as I had requested of the Universe before we headed out. Or so I thought. The first load to come into the house was the greenery. As we gently opened the back door of the van I noticed drooping of green leaves and a sinking feeling deep within. I felt a shock of fear sharp through me. The plants were not right. The pots were cold. Very cold. These babies were frozen from the bottom up. Though the air in the van had been warm the outside cold was just too much to keep the floor of the van heated in that severe deep freeze, so the pots were frozen and, alas, so were the plants. We attempted the hot steam shower and heat lamp in the bathroom to warm them up, a warm water bath for the soil to warm the roots, but as I awoke the next morning I was sure that these longterm friends of mine, that had helped to beautify my home and clean the air we breathed were goners. I wept from the pain and I screamed high & mighty from anger attempting to first blame E for not checking on them as he had promised at his usual Clintonville stop for gas and a burger. That anger was misplaced. I knew that if anyone was to blame it was me for not thinking about the holistic safety of the plants, not thinking about the frozen floor of the van and how powerfully devastating it can be when one, anyone, anything was trying to hold in & maintain heat. I kept a keen, tender eye on the greens yesterday, all day and evening as the plants’ leaves began to shrivel as did my plans for this new home and this new chapter of my life. This was surely a sign, a daunting symbol of what was to come. Holy shit this move was ill-fated. I couldn’t unpack. I couldn’t organize anything. I had managed to bring out some of the boxes as my mind was focusing on what a fuck up I am and how I knew I shouldn’t have done that in 1999, or when I had that opportunity in 1980 that would have changed my life I ran away, and that was the dumbest move yet in the spring of 2004, blah, blah, blah. My whole life was being mulled over as the plants I held dear clung insecurely to life and I used their condition as a sign that, “See I didn’t need to have kids. I have had these plants for 24 years. So see fuckers, I can take care of living things if I need to!"

As with most times in my life when I found myself in a vortex of victimhood and resistance to looking at any other perspective but that single one that satisfies the aforementioned scenario, I decided I needed some fresh air. So I took a walk. When in doubt about my life & decisions go for a walk, get some air and gain some perspective. The air was cold, about 7 degrees but the wind was completely absent. I walked at a brisk pace and the cold seemed no big deal. And of course I was thinking about the plants and how I could possibly shift my perspective to excavate something positive to come from this heartbreaking tragedy.

I thought of the plants and how many sprigs I had shared with my friends so they too could share in the plants that came from someone I loved in honor of the father I cherished. The many that had blossomed into beautiful tropical house plant specimens. My friend Amy took the plant I shared with her and, in turn, shared sprigs with many others, including our mutual friends and her son my Godson. I had seen one particular species plant all over my life, My friend Ann had just taken a sprig of this one style of plant, the one with the elongated leaves and splattered dots of brilliant yellow, just 3 days ago with the intention of transplanting it into a brightly colored pot for her newly designed home.
So it turns out, despite the immediate deep freeze, and God forbid should they all perish their offspring are alive and thriving. The largest plant of the clan had grown so full it was difficult to place for all the space it took up. There was still hope that while these plants looked like my dad at the end of his life, sagging slowly but surely, vitality draining from his body by the hour, they would endure.  For my dad, the time finally came 4 months later when he blessedly succumbed to the pull and passed on to what I perpetually hope is some free and easy dimension of spiritual renewal. Unlike my father’s physical body, these green beings were not done yet. I will trim the dead leaves leaving only skeletons of twigs and branches from which, I prayed to the Gods above, new green will sprout. The wind picked up just a bit and sharpened my senses. I looked around as I walked through the forest seeing my old friends, the tall pines that had been my tree totems all my life, always surprisingly present at each new place I nested into, and visible from a window of every place I had ever lived including my first solo Chicago apartment, the first home i ever built on my own.
The pines stood tall outside my frosty windows her in the north, in the deep freeze, hard-as-ice sentries dressed in deep green, while their cousins the mighty Oaks stood alongside, many golden brown leaves still clinging to some of the tree tops, refusing to give up despite the bitter wind and cold, until their new fresher relatives inevitably push them out in the warmth of the budding spring. I was reminded of the cycle of life & death and how sometimes we just fuck up. We make a mistake or an accident happens and that’s okay. That’s life. 

As I push towards 60 I understand all too well that the unexpected turns life takes can be tumultuous, beautiful and downright painful. All are possibilities and at this point, I hear of those much younger than I passing suddenly, or being laden down with the daunting effects of an unexpected and formidable diagnoses. I grasp that pain is unavoidable in this skin. Their may be decisions or circumstances that cause a stabbing agony and bring one to the depths of despair, but as I have also blessedly found, there is always fresh air. There are always trees swaying in the breeze, gracefully and rhythmically bowing down to all that is. There is always a piece somewhere if you look hard enough that will inspire, hope of warmth and vitally melting a frozen pathway to possibility.
I see my dying plants in the house now and I see that there are pieces that look like they might survive. Just maybe… Some branches  are totally drooped and dried up but random branches give me hope that when I trim the dead off there might still be some life in the core of the branches that will stimulate new growth to take hold. I will hold the plants dear, though almost completely leafless. They reach out like hungry children for some hope of nourishment, of continuation. They are stark like the white, cold winter that lies before me in this north woods haven, my new home. The stillness, the nakedness, the latent, the invisible waiting for rays of sun to blossom. 

8 Months later I am heading into new season of cold and snow. My life has settled a bit, or as much as it can for a mind like mine, and I once again stare out at the tall pines and stubborn oaks outside my frosty window. Inside those windows many bunches of green reach out into the warm comfort of the house, stretching their long arms, feeling the affirming heat of their ceramic homes. and every so often a rustling of their leaves, an anthem to their rebirth.
All the plants that drooped and sagged so lifelessly not quite a year ago, thrive today, small buds having blossomed into full leaves and random buds surprise me every week. They all made it except the giant one, that took up so much room. I miss the puzzle of trying to place him just so, but his time came and I released him, just like I had to do so many years back just days before I received the basket full of greens.

Tricia Schwaba, 2018

Bridle the Beast, poetry by Tricia

Art Source: unknown

Art Source: unknown

It’s the piece that stays with you 

The one that won’t leave

The annoying brat that 

Tugs at your sleeve

The haunting memory 

That painful episode

The awkward rendezvous

That makes your head explode.

That which stays with you 

Is the thing to examine

To gain some insight 

To shift what will happen

So instead of the torment

You are blessed with release

Make peace with your past

Bridle the beast

From that moment on 

Your days you may find 

More peaceful and freer

As the tension unwinds

You may be astounded 

By the expanse it creates

The gray of despair 

Now colored with grace. 

Tricia Schwaba 2020, From the Archives

This Time I Swear

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During moments when I am connected to all

Nothing is impossible, no obstacle too tall

Then I flip back, feel all possibilities end

And cry pity-filled tears, praying for amends.

Smiling at the winds that blow through my hair

I take another oath. And this time I swear.

Tricia Schwaba, From the Archives