It is the time of year again, after a long rest, that my heart and hands return eagerly to the garden. This year, while frost was still imminent, I visited my local garden center for Johnny jump-ups, those small, bright, violet flowers which tolerate frost and brighten the yard all summer.

        As I went about my work, I pulled the first plants from a plastic six-pack. Although they were thriving on the top, I found them incredibly root-bound. My job was to release this root ball — alternatively pulling gently, then sometimes hard — so the roots will reach out and allow the plant to thrive. Then I pinched back the flowers to encourage the roots to establish themselves more quickly, instead of giving energy to the flowers. Then I watered them heavily.

        The process seemed spiritual, as if God was speaking to me. What if God is the Gardener and I am the plant, I thought. I would be pulled up, my roots torn apart, my body forced into soil, my flowers pinched off. Then I would be doused with water. Would I expect to grow? Would I think the Gardener is my friend?

        And what if I remained root-bound in the container where, though beautifully flowering, I would surely die.

        My own personal growing pains parallel this spiritual lesson.

        I grew up the middle of eight children. My mother died in 1967 at the age of 43, after a long bout with ovarian cancer, leaving us with a withdrawn and angry father. I was 12. Grieving was not encouraged. We went on, carrying the pain and loss into adulthood.

Lipps family: (front) Leslie Ciarniello, Connie Hertsenberg, Fran Nunan, Lois Santangelo; (back) Rosanne Kohake, Andrew Lipps, Greg Lipps, Geralyn Lipps Hunt, Herman Lipps | ZOOM |

        This spring, for the sixth year in a row, my brothers and sisters have come together for a trip to Florida. We have reorganized our lives so we can visit my father. We leave behind our wide variety of jobs — the author, the pet store owner, the electronic technician, the human services executive, the longtime P&G employee, the moms.

        We leave our 25 children and our husbands, wives and significant others. And we leave behind responsibility for our myriad dogs, cats and gerbils. We gather on an early morning in April to make a journey together — a journey of road miles and life lessons.

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        Initially, the feeling that arises in the van is deep sadness. The tragedy we shared 30 years ago still makes us ask, “Why? Why us?” It doesn't seem fair to have this pain in our childhood.

        Then we find comfort in each other. Here it is safe to share our memories in a way it is not safe to do in the outside world. But the trip is not about pain.

        We also share current lives, struggles and celebrations. We share food — lots of it — recipes and dinners. We share belly laughs and smiles. We share music of the past. And we talk and talk and talk, frequently into the nights.

        The sharing comes when we join our father in a loving and giving way. Our dad was a World War II Marine who spent 42 months in South Pacific combat and was wounded. At age 81, he has softened and is touched by the love of his children. We know that he loves us too and he shows it in a way he was unable to when we were young.

        The drive home is quiet and more reserved. I always feel sad that it is ending, deep love for my siblings, overall happiness and gratitude to God for letting me share the lives and enjoy the unconditional love of these seven wonderful individuals. I feel my mother's peace and am sure she is with us.

        It is difficult to leave our “magic van” and put our masks back on, to return to adulthood and responsibilities.

        I think despite our “growing pains,” we have thrived. Our roots had surely been ripped apart and our flowers snipped back. We had been left in the dirt and doused in painful tears. Yet we thrived.

        It is now that I understand the Gardener.

        Geralyn Lipps Hunt, 46, lives in Warren County. She is a nurse, teacher and writer who gives talks throughout the Tristate on the topic of herbs and gardening. She teaches at TriHealth Integrative Health and Medicine and the Fitton Center for Creative Arts. She also volunteers for Fernside Center for Grieving Children.

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