“As with the season of Lent itself—a wintry season of contemplation, spiritual focus, and petition—these symbols of new life, out of the deathlike state of winter, are emblems of the newness of spring, rebirth, and rejuvenation. — James Theodore Farmer III
The much welcomed invitation came. I thought the arc of our suburban hollow was forbidden. “Nope, we don’t mind,” texted my neighbor friend of the acreage behind her house at the top of the hill and road’s end. “Come. Explore….”
So, up the hill Grace and I climbed. A paved path we walk a few times weekly, yet, transformed anew by last week’s storm of snow. To the side yard we entered, beneath the tall, frozen treetops—their shadows painting gray stripes on the additional coat of frozen precipitation from the previous night. Into the sacred sanctuary, where a family of deer stood frozen, eyeing our curious humanness, measuring our threat. Until—split-second!—they turned their white-crested furry ends, kicking them high into the air and away from us into their hidden, woodsy retreat. A valley cut by a curving dark-water creek. Hillsides velveted in white, thin and thick brown trees spiking from the depths of plush white carpet. Fallen branches stacked into fences.
The awe of the snow carpeted valley stayed with me along with my neighbor’s frozen garden, back at the entry of her yard. Curved fronds of verdant green ferns, partially submerged into the frozen cover. Bent Barrenwort, its thin, curled-edge leaves cupping delicate, fringed servings of ice. But, it was the Lenten Roses that rivaled the arc of the hollow in captivating my heart. They leaned into the trap of cold earth, tired, slightly sad, defeated, yet still glorious in their variegated hues of green, pink and yellow.
I went back two days later. Their color had deepened, their spines arched higher from the earth, the snow held their blossoms less captive.
And, again, on Sunday, I checked on them, iPhone camera at the ready. They sprung higher still, their natural blush returning.
I texted a picture of their then-current state after each trip to my neighbor’s yard. With the last, she texted back:
“They symbolize all of us dealing with the last year.”
Apt words. Truth. Us—at times wilted under the weight of this virus. Then beginning to awaken to a new routine, finding our spine, rising upward. Coming into to a new normal, yet still weighted by the thing befallen us. Like the Lenten Roses, we will make it through, those of us fortunate enough to survive. May we receive the lessons and thrive.
*Hellebore: The Lenten Rose: This perennial often is just called “hellebore” from its genus name (Helleborus), and is not a rose at all. It gets this name from the fact the flowers somewhat resemble a small single rose, and it blooms in the north in early spring—the Lent religious season. There have been many improved selections introduced in recent years, and it was named the Perennial Plant of the Year for 2005 by the Perennial Plant Association. —Dr. Leonard Perry, University of Vermont.
