It feels so tender and vulnerable to really believe in something in which I have no control over the outcome. There are so many things in life outside of my control. Everything, really except myself, my own inner world. I surprised myself a month ago by how much raw and giddy hope I had that the goji berry plant I planted would emerge from dormancy. Â
I have been longing to grow goji for oh so many years. A friend had just planted some and told me where I could order them from. I was inspired by her goji plant which was leafing quite nicely. I ordered two from a plant nursery in Georgia. When they arrived, one already had green leaf sprouts and looked alive and hopefully vibrant. The second one looked like a dead brown branch with no signs of life.
One of the things I like about goji berries is how hardy they seem to be. This is what I have read about them because this is my first attempt to grow them myself. They love the sun. They actually prefer sun, and do not want much shade. They can tolerate dry, harsh conditions and thrive. They are sturdy, robust, and can survive in hot, dry conditions that other plants would pass on.
We are opposites in many ways. I do not tolerate dry, hot conditions well. I prefer cooler more moist weather. I like the dark. One of my favorites times of year is the Winter Solstice, when we receive the least amount of sunlight and warmth. But we are both sturdy. And we both are figuring out how to thrive in extreme weather.
I also like to eat them. They enrich the yin and blood according to Chinese medicine and brighten the eyes. Yin and blood represent cool, moistening, lubricating energies in the body. In Chinese medicine, your blood holds and contains your emotions, memory, and ancestors. I like how gojis strongly embody a sense of balance. The conditions they address balance the very conditions in which they thrive. They can heal the conditions and landscapes in the body in which the need to grow and thrive. That in and of itself feels both generous and wondrous.
I planted them both, planting first the one with the few hopeful green tendrils. For the second one, I felt ridiculous, and softly and quietly hopeful that it would defy my expectations and show signs of life. I was struck by what an act of faith it was to plant that dried, brown stalk in the ground with no guarantees whether it would break dormancy. I had a backup plan, telling myself, no worries, if it does not grow I will plant peonies in its place.
The first one sprouted more green leaves within a day of putting it in the ground. Each day there were more and more green tendrils. The second one, though, did not change at all in the first week. Gabriel and I tended to them both, watering them and checking on them daily. I would ask myself, how long is too long to wait for signs of life before I move on to my backup plan? Am I silly for putting in so much work, time, and care to something that looks dead?
After the first week, I checked the main stem by shaving off some of the top bark to see if it had any green. A sign of life. It did have slightly moist green underneath dried brown bark. I clipped the ends of the stems to see if that might help. And I waited over a couple weeks more. Nothing. No signs of life.  I had given up. Kind of. I was still checking nonchalantly, secretly hoping and expecting to find a green tendril, a sign of life.
And despite what I told myself that it was obvious it was not going to grow, I was feeling disappointed, disheartened. Then on May 4th, the day before my wedding anniversary, I did a quick check as I was driving by, thinking to myself that nothing would be different. I saw something, and walked back to verify what I had seen. I saw 2, no 3 no 7 little leaves sprouting out of the brittle brown stems.
I am glad I did not give up on my goji.
Thank you for joining me here. I look forward to the next time.