Sweet Grass

When I moved from the country, three years ago, I potted up some sweet grass and brought it with me. It was one of several plants I carried with. Some irises, some rhubarb, and the sweet grass. The rhubarb didn't survive the journey, one iris did, and the grass.  

The sweet grass came from a cherished neighbor, who likely got it in a roundabout way from native Americans. It's all connected through nature and history. When I was frantically packing the last of the last things, I hastily dug some grass and dropped it in an empty pot. It held on through the move, summer, and fall. In the Spring I couldn't even remember what was in the pot. The sparse amount of soil finally gave way to some spindly blades of grass. That seems a fair analogy of my move and the upheaval of it all. A little soil, some roots, an old pot, and a dusting of hope.

It occurred to me recently that it was time to plant to grass where it could thrive. It was growing, but it was confined and didn't need to be. Another analogy of my life? I believe so. Sometimes we are hesitant to put down roots, to explore possibilities, to encourage growth. Sometimes, we need to just dig deep, plant our hopes, dreams and yes, a little bit of sweet grass. All that said it gives me a touch of anxiety to just let it grow. I don't want to lose it. This tie to my other life. But the flip side is if it thrives, I may have enough to share. It may become more than it is. Same for me.