Gradually color emerges. First, there is just a glimpse. But then the petals begin to peel away and the structure of the bloom begins to take shape.

If you slow down, you can observe the processes of nature. Slowly, there is a difference, a moment when the celebration begins.

Some join the party late and think it occurred as a sudden explosion of form and texture and color.

But everything takes time. Even healing.

Judy has worked hard on this corner of the backyard. Several years ago she scrounged every building site around for flat rocks. She carried them out of the woods on the top of the ridge. The garden has grown the same way, with lots of effort. There are several different kinds of ferns, at least 5, and countless hosta. Amazing to see what can grow in the shade. 

I'm learning that every plant has ideal growing conditions, but they are not the same. Some require full sun. Some want moist soil; some dry. And then there are these plants that thrive in the shade. Notice there are no daylilies planted here. I suppose they might grow in this corner of the yard. But I doubt they would reach their potential growth and bloom.

Wondering if there might be some parallels with we human beings.

This morning began with me in a funk. It's raining. The pool is cold. I have cancer. What I thought would be a good week, my extra week before the last chemotherapy treatment, has been a continuation of exhaustion. I don't feel as though I am weak, but I have little energy or stamina. Even my mind seems clouded. I'm not blue. But I felt as gray as the day.

Judy had gone out in the yard with an umbrella and came back saying, "Get your camera and come with me!" I grumbled, picked it up, put on my garden clogs, and let her lead me to what she wanted to share. She was right, (again). I needed to be outside with open eyes. I took 125 photos in my wet backyard. And the funk was chased away.

So here is one sight that caught our shared attention.

Peacock Maiden kicks off the daylily blooming season in our garden. The season seems to be delayed by the cool weather of the month of May. I would guess that our daylilies are at least a week, maybe 10 days, later than usual. It's the hangover from 2020 that we all are experiencing. And although yesterday was brilliantly sunny, the water temperature in our pool only reached 76 degrees. In years past I would have been swimming in the pool since early May. 

Our first daylily bloom was actually yesterday with Egyptian Queen, and there is another bloom this morning, but it doesn't fully open until later in the day. Peacock Maiden is an appropriate flower to begin the season as it was a Christmas plant exchange a few years ago from Brent Weedman. He was someone I wanted to know better because we shared so many interests: photography, daylilies, Louise Penny mysteries, and similar political views. But he lost his life to Covid this past winter. He is so missed by his wife, Jennifer, and family and countless friends, and by Judy and me. So we celebrate the beginning of the blooming season with Peacock Maiden.

My healing season will continue through the daylily season of the Hideaway with its peak in late June when the effects of my final chemotherapy treatment will subside and my strength will begin to return. And the blooming will continue through July. Hopefully, I will have managed to return to swimming in a warmer pool!

Romans 8:14-16 "All who are led by God's Spirit are God's sons and daughters. You didn't receive a spirit of slavery to lead you back again into fear, but you received a Spirit that shows you are adopted as his children. With this Spirit, we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The same Spirit agrees with our spirit, that we are God's children."

It's a big family. And we all belong. Even the ones that I am embarrassed to think must not belong. And who think I don't belong.

We are waiting for the daylilies in our garden to begin blooming. It appears that the season is about a week delayed, which is surprising given our beautiful spring. But there are other garden specimens that attract our attention.

Our magnolia tree has begun to bloom, joining the countless magnolia trees in the Nashville area. Magnolia species are numerous, with more than 210 belonging to the family, and they are ancient. I read that they pre-date bees and that there are fossils of them that are more than 20 million years old. The original pollinators were thought to be beetles. The center portion, the carpels, are substantive and can withstand the traffic of beetles.

We planted our tree 9 years ago on Memorial Day weekend and it was barely taller than the fence and now it's nearly triple that height. But it doesn't begin to compare with some of the massive Nashville magnolias. Still, I enjoy it so and the blooms are so photogenic.

These hardy trees, at least for the southern climate, testify to strength and resilience and amazing blooms. 

Tuesday, I realized that the numbness in my fingers, hands, and toes had become more pronounced. I wasn't even certain that there weren't places on my face that seemed to be less sensitive to touch. I soon discovered that this numbness could be the result of either the lymphoma or one of the medications I receive in chemotherapy: vincristine.

There are lots of warnings with each of the 10 medications I receive as part of my chemotherapy. I have avoided most of the nasty-sounding ones. But I had not noticed this paragraph regarding possible side effects with vincristine: "Effects on the nerves are called peripheral neuropathy. You may feel numbness, tingling, or pain in your hands and feet. It may be hard for you to button your clothes, open jars, or walk as usual. The effect on the nerves may get worse with more doses of the drug. These effects get better in some people after the drug is stopped, but it does not get better in all people."

As a result of phone conversations with my doctor's nurse, I now have pills for nerve pain (if I have any pain). But I was most troubled about whether this neuropathy is temporary or whether it is permanent and may become more significant. I also realized that I had begun to think I was going to get through cancer treatment with only a good outcome and no difficult consequences. My numb fingers challenged my rosy assumptions with a scary reality check. I still have another chemotherapy treatment ahead with an additional dose of vincristine, possibly.

My prostate cancer treatment last year came with a significant permanent loss. Will I have another loss as well in exchange for my lymphoma treatment? I don't know and won't know until weeks or months afterwards. I began treatment with the hope that I could say one day that I am cured or that my cancer is in "durable remission". That is still my goal, even if I have to make some adjustments to usual practices. 

It's definitely a puzzle that has no immediate answer. I do like puzzles, especially ones that can be solved like this one made of six identical pieces. This puzzle that I am facing now has an answer that I won't know for some time. I plan on making the best of whatever happens.

Earlier this month, Marcia brought Judy a cutting from one of the plants in her Wisconsin garden. The single rooted stalk became several plant starts as Marcia cut it into several pieces in order for it to fit into her carry-on luggage for the flight to Nashville. It appears from my observation that Judy and Marcia planted nine different portions of that stick into the ground near our trio of dogwood trees. So far, at least six of them have little leaves sprouting. Looks like a good start!

Hydrangea Arborescens "Mary Nell" was named after the wife of professor Joseph C. McDaniel of the University of Illinois. Apparently it is a fast growing variety of lacecap hydrangea. Michael Dirr reported in an article in Nursery Mag that he received two plants in January 2019 that had become 100 by August. This could become a problem! And they grow to five feet tall! I think Judy may need to find another spot in the yard for this new resident of the Hideaway.