THE BULB AND THE GARDENER

A gardener went walking. He was not the best of gardeners. He tended his garden haphazardly. When motivated, he was careful. But otherwise he was careless. His garden was sufficient, but not spectacular.

On his walk he found a bulb lying beside the path. It was exposed, looked bruised, and had been trampled. The gardener didn’t know what kind of bulb it was, but he sensed it was rare.

He took it home, held his healing gardener’s touch on the bruised areas. He cleaned it and prepared a place in the soil for it. It started growing.

He nurtured it. Gave it water. He spread phosphorus around the soil to strengthen its roots. Every day he tended it. He showed greater care for this bulb than any he’d planted before. His years of experience, with both successes and failures, helped him understand how he must improve his ways in order to coax this precious bulb into flowering. And, this bulb inspired him to strive for improvement.

The bulb sprouted a short nub of a stem, which poked through the soil. Squinting at its first view of the sun, the stem did not see the gardener watering it.

The gardener dressed the soil around the stem with potassium. He watched as it strengthened daily. It grew sturdy and continued shooting upward, becoming a plant.

The plant continued growing. Higher it climbed. As it grew, it admired the tall trees surrounding it in the distance. It looked at the trees’ great trunks, sturdy and strong. They reached high into the sky. Adorned with leaves like a queen layered in fine verdant silks. The plant felt envious, as it was tiny and the trees were huge.

Early in the morning, before the sun rose, the gardener tenderly watered the plant. He stayed for some time admiring its hardy shape. The gardener sprinkled some nitrogen around the plant. With his nimble fingers, he worked it into the wet soil. His touch against the plant conjured up sweet dreams as it slept.

At the break of dawn, the plant awoke. It felt nourished and took a long draft of water into its roots from the still moist soil. Glancing down, the plant was surprised to notice two green leaves beginning to form near its base. Each day the leaves grew broader. More began to form. The plant felt proud having its own cloak of wavering green. But when it saw how many leaves its neighbors had, it felt envy again for what it wished to have, but did not.

The wind started howling. The plant was afraid its precious leaves would rip away. But the gardener brought out a cloth fence and slid it around the plant. It was secure inside this shelter, though the sides shielded its view and it did not see the gardener.

The plant liked the shelter, but felt lonely because it could no longer see its neighbors — the trees and other plants. It felt secure, but smothered, not realizing the protection was only temporary, until it grew strong enough to withstand winds without breaking.

Eventually it grew high enough to peek above the top of the fence. It was even more envious, as the other plants had also grown taller. It was now too tall to see the ground at its base, and thus could not appreciate how much it had grown, too.

A storm began to rage. The plant was frightened. The gardener rushed out to cover the fence enclosing the plant. It closed its eyes in fear and did not see him. He stood protectively above, shielding it from the heavy rain. The plant still felt drips as water drenched the gardener’s clothes and fell from his heaving chest. It felt comforted as the drips were gentle and the water soothing.

When it opened its eyes again, it was surprised to see flowers sprouting on all the surrounding plants. Once again envy coursed through it. The plant was unable to see its own flower beginning to bud, even though each day its bloom grew larger.

The gardener stood at a distance, watching her unfold. She was now filling the world with joy simply by her sheer grace. He felt pride in the work he’d done and the patience he’d shown assisting the bruised bulb into a rare beauty. Tears streamed from the gardener’s eyes. His life was filled with joy in appreciating the flower simply for being herself.

The gardener and the bulb had helped each other to grow.

The flower did feel the warmth of the gardener’s love as it grew, but could not fully appreciate it. She’d blossomed into a Yellow Ladyslipper Orchid — one of the rarest of flowers. And though her jealous neighbors looked in awe at her dazzling beauty, her focus was still shaded with envy. The only thing she saw was all that she was not. She was unable to see what she truly was; had always been capable of. The gardener went into the house to fetch a mirror.

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