A clipping from the heroine of this story.
Alongside the St. John’s wort, fuchsia, and gerbera daisies in my front garden bed, there’s a very special rose.
This rose was planted from a clipping my daughter took from one of those tiny potted rose plants they sell at Trader Joes for $3.99. This tiny little rose flower clipping sat in a tiny little vase of water on a windowsill for more than a year. It basked in the sun and my daughter’s adoration. To our shared surprise and excitement, it grew roots in the water all on its own.
When we moved to our current house, my daughter tucked the tiny little rose clipping with its water-born roots into the front garden bed. To our further surprise and excitement, this tiny little rose took hold in the soil.
Now several years later, this tender little clipping has transformed into a proper rose bush. Its flowers are no longer Trader Joe’s tiny. The blossoms are as wide as my palm and deliciously fragrant.
It was to this flower I was drawn during the class I’m teaching right now, Blossom & Stone. In the class, we connect with two allies — one plant, one mineral. This rose plant stepped forward as my blossom, and I’ve been receiving its wisdom.
I had a habit of calling this plant “the Trader Joe’s rose,” but my daughter recently corrected me: “This rose plant in our garden is not that rose plant we got at the store. My clipping became the plant that makes these flowers. But this is a different plant from the store plant and its flowers are totally different, too.”
The beautiful rose blossoms who beckon to me with their medicine, they have a wonderful ancestral story, but they are not themselves those ancestors. They are different in shape, size, and fragrance.
This rose received DNA from its ancestors. It survived and grew new roots after being separated from its original community. It thrived, adapted, changed. It gave birth to new generations, so very different from itself.
This rose tells me part of its medicine is knowing that where (and who) you come from matters, but it does not define you. You come from your ancestors, but you are not your ancestors. Give thanks for your ancestors and the gifts they offered to you even as you honor your own identity in present time.
The rose also offers the vibration of love, surprise, rebirth, and adaptation. Being cut from its mother bush did not signify the end of life for the little clipping. Under my daughter’s love, this clipping grew surprising roots, and was reborn in our new garden. It has adapted to its new conditions and thrived.
If you are in transition, let this rose offer a balm to your nervous system. Many surprising things can happen in this world. Where you come from matters, but it doesn’t script your future.