In the Cool Cellar of Your Heart

This morning on the way to church, we're talking about how we can't wait for next summer because the artichokes take two years to produce. My daughter planted these plants from a seed and carefully tended them through the spring and summer.

But my husband cleaned out the beds, uprooted all the old plants, and smoothed over the garden since the snow is on the way.

"What? You didn't! No! Those were her artichoke plants that come back each year! They produce in the second season! No!"

We're so disappointed. We're so sad about all that work and waiting.

He feels terrible, but what can be done? We return home from church and dig through the leaf and weeds pile to find the tangled mess of roots and frosted over leaves. Can't we just replant the thing? It seems too late.

Just as my daughter loses hope, my husband reads that, actually, uprooting your artichoke plants protects them, strengthens them, and accelerates their growth in the spring. We read how, in colder climates, gardeners should dig up their artichoke plants and dry the roots in a cool, dry place.

They sprout rapidly when replanted in the warmer weather.

My daughter is so excited. "I've always wanted a real root cellar," she says. We're now a prairie family. We've converted a corner of our basement to artichoke roots.

I'm laughing about how quickly our disappointment turns to hope. I tell everyone that this is a true Live with Flair moment because what looked like disaster was protection. What looked like loss was a strengthening for future abundance. What looked like a mistake was actually part of a critical design.

Besides, yesterday we didn't have a root cellar. Now we do.

And I remember that if I feel uprooted in any way, it's accelerating my growth for another season. I will wait patiently in the cool cellar of my heart.