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	body & soul inspiring stories

Spring's Offering
By Elizabeth Griffin
Web Exclusive - May 23, 2008

My husband and I got away for an hour or so Saturday morning to take a quick walk through the plants and flowers at the nursery fair on the grounds of the old psychiatric hospital. It is a gorgeous spread of property that fills up part of a hillside leading down into Trieste from the Carsic plateau just outside the city. The complex of buildings is mostly adorned with ceramic accents and has decorated tiling under the eaves.

I put on a new headscarf. I had just completed the third of six treatments, and by now my head was nearly bald. A tumour and other complications were found in my right breast earlier in the year. After two operations and twelve days in the hospital, I was well into the second phase of chemotherapy. My body felt weak in my sweat suit, and I was still nauseated, making driving to the fair a little tricky. I rolled down the windows in the car and enjoyed the sunshine.

The fair was packed. We were lucky and found a parking space across from the old chapel; Mary and Jesus were still visible in the archway over the entrance. Yes, these were our people: couples, couples, and more couples were discussing this and that angle, bloom time, lighting needs, what works, what doesn't work. It was an older crowd. It made me think that you may have to be together awhile to understand what comes about from planting. We found the iris specialists, the orchids, the plant book booth, the lavender products, the herbs, the annuals. There was one booth selling the plants we see in the fields on the way to our property. How funny to see it in pots.

Then we spotted something very new: carnivorous plants. They were small plants with little pink dinosaur tags sticking out of the pots that read, "Hi, I eat insects." My stomach was still turning cartwheels from all the movement. I took a seat on the curb while my husband Maurizio took a closer look. I could see the look in his eyes. I know when he's captivated. It would do little good to say, "Come on honey. Let's keep walking." If Italy?and Maurizio?have taught me anything, it is to sit back and enjoy the wait. Maurizio examined the many versions of insect-eating plants and soon knew how to control some of the insects in the summertime. He also thought our young sons would get a kick out of it. The salesman, in fine Italian fashion, started talking about the practicalities?not to feed it too many insects at a time, not to place fingers too close to the leaves for fear the plant will hold open its leaf and get the equivalent of dry mouth. I just kept my place on the curb and eyed the miniature sunflowers, snapdragons, and forget-me-nots. The last advice was for full sun and lots of water. The sale was made and down the walkway we continued.

Our basket of goods was filling up: marigolds for the garden borders, petunias for the flower boxes, a nasturtium, daisies, pansies, two dahlia plants. That would be enough for today. We slowly made our way back toward the car. As we were walking, we saw another couple walking toward the exit. We all smiled at one another and I made a joke about carrying home our treasures. I asked if I could see inside their basket. They had only one plant, a watermelon-sized cactus with fine spikes sticking out all over. I giggled and asked if it had a name. The man responded in a droll Italian, "The Mother-in-Law Pillow."

We knew the boys would be interested in our purchase, but we had no idea how interested. It was like bringing home a pet. When we picked them up at the babysitter's house we explained what was in the trunk. They both stared at us as if we had made a heist. When the back door was opened they both peered in like a monster was going to jump out.

The plant and the pink dinosaur label quickly got center-table status on our property. The boys started collecting dead insects and leaving them about. We filled the saucer around the vase with water. The boys squeaked with excitement as they tried to touch its leaves. My husband was completely satisfied with the idea of purchasing an environmentally friendly insect repellent.

We were busy all afternoon planting impatiens in the raised soil area we'd made last year between the elms. We also made a lot of progress on our slowly developing shady area of rhododendrons, azaleas, and hydrangeas. We planted the bell peppers and the rest of the huckleberry shrubs. By the end of the day, our carnivorous plant was encircled with donated bugs and water. It looked comfortable. One of his little, shall we say claws, had opened slightly and you could indeed see a bug just resting there. I guess he was just beginning to digest. The boys said they wanted the plant on their bedroom windowsill and fought over who would carry it home from the property.

Once we were all tucked in for the night with the lights out, we heard our younger son, Gilbert, tiptoe out of bed and come into our room. "Pappi," he said, "um, can you take the plant out of our room? I'm afraid. The plant may come eat me." My husband has a rather laid-back style. He often hesitates at the boys' first requests, waiting to see if they are sincere in their questions. But in the middle of the night when one of the boys says he's scared, Maurizio knows to respond. He got out of bed, got the plant, put it in the kitchen and then put Gilbert back into his lower bunkbed. In the morning, Gilbert was up before dawn asking Pappi again if he could put the plant back in their room. The sun was out. I suppose it gave him courage.

We were doing our best to keep the boys' fears at bay. But still we noticed that Gilbert, from one day to the next, refused to enter the water. And our older son, then seven-years-old, suddenly displayed an acute phobia for elevators. Our throats clenched one evening when Gilbert asked in the middle of dinner, "Mamma? If I die, are you still our mother?" We tried our best to camouflage the chemotherapy sessions with activities for the boys, anything to keep them out of ears' range for the two-to-three-day period of frequent vomiting that followed each session.

One morning I stepped out on the balcony. I knew how to select scarves that would hide my bare scalp but let the sun warm my head. The begonias needed pruning. The geraniums were filled with new leaves and looked ready to sprout flowers. The cherry blossoms in the garden had mostly blown away. The tulips and daffodils were done for the year. All the rose bushes looked healthy and ready to bloom. I smelled the star jasmine and wisteria in the courtyard. Spring was with me. Gilbert was in staring at the carnivorous plant. He seemed determined to study the object of his fear in the hope that his fear would dissipate. I would follow his lead and do the same.