One of the hardest parts about starting our deck renovation (stay tuned for updates about that DIY slow crawl) was knowing we’d have to move my beloved hydrangeas. I love these plants in a way that surprised me.
Watching them grow from little green stems in pots to giant bushes providing refuge for birds, staging areas for hummingbirds to plan their adorable (and yet fierce) feeder attacks, shelter to wildlife, and producing gorgeous cones of flowers each summer has brought me so much joy. But in order to accommodate our new (and most importantly, not rotted) deck, we had to move them. And because we’re not really “plant people,” I had no idea if they would survive the move.
We read about transplanting limelight hydrangeas. We watched countless YouTube videos. But we couldn’t be sure if our efforts would be enough.
We carefully and painstakingly dug their roots up, heaved them across the yard to their new home, placed them in holes we had dug to Google’s specifications, covered the roots with dirt, used garden twine to support them, watered and mulched them. And then…we waited.
At first, they looked ok! We had hope!
But days later they started to lose leaves.
A few days after that, the remaining leaves curled. Many became crunchy.
“They’re gonna die,” I whispered while watering them a week after transplanting them. Tears mingled with the water I was giving (in vain) to the plants. “Please live,” I begged them.
I shut off the hose and walked over to the first plant we had moved. Everything in me wanted this hydrangea to be ok. To keep going. To live.
“I know you didn’t ask to be uprooted like this,” I told the dead-looking plant. “I know you were happy in your hole. You had purpose and meaning. You gave life and received life. You knew what every day would bring, and you thrived. But now…everything is different. Your roots don’t feel secure. Your branches are empty. You’re hurt. You’re wounded. Everything feels wrong. But please, please, don’t give up. Please keep going. Please let us take care of you. Let us help hold your weight while you heal and find your footing again. I know life will forever look different now. I know your form and shape are different. But you will adjust. I promise. Just keep going. Keeping healing. Keep living.”
I wasn’t sure who I was talking to anymore. But all I could see was my sweet Gracie as a puppy hiding in the hydrangea branches.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I gently rubbed a remaining leaf.
“Live,” I begged her.
Two days later, I went to water our wounded hydrangeas and found a leaf standing tall and green!
I spotted another. And another!
Three days later, more leaves stood out from their branches. Life among death. Health among wounds.
Signs of life and healing are evident in my hydrangeas. And in my own soul.
And I pray, wherever you are today, that you may experience signs of life and healing in your heart too.
Grief is deep;
Love is deeper still.
