Amaryllis leaves in need of a salad recipe.
By Magdalena I. García
At Christmas time, my mother gave me an amaryllis bulb. I love amaryllises in any color, because they are large, showy flowers that make quite a statement. They also have no fragrance, which is very helpful when you have allergies, and they are relatively easy to grow. Or so I thought.
I did what I have done in years past: I waited until the Christmas rush passed, and the tree and decorations were packed. This way the amaryllis can take center stage in January, when all the colorful Christmas lights are gone and every day looks just like the other: gray. I put the amaryllis bulb in a tall, clear vase, added dirt, topped off this moss, and watered as needed, day after day. And thus the waiting began. But as the days went by, I could see only leaves—and more leaves—shooting forth, but no sign of a flower.
I went back and read the instructions on the box, just to confirm I had done everything by the book. Then I went online and read an article on “how to make your amaryllis bulb bloom again.” I was struck by this sentence in the middle of the text: “To make your amaryllis bloom again, you simply have to mimic the conditions that nature provides.” Well, let me tell you, there is obviously nothing simple about that, because at least this time I failed to grow an amaryllis.
This whole incident made me sad, perhaps because it reminded me—in a very visual way—that this is not the only area of my life where the desired results are not bursting forth. It’s disappointing and frustrating to put so much effort into something and to end up empty handed. But I will resist the temptation to uproot and discard the bulb, at least for another few days; maybe weeks. And I will allow it to invite me to ponder the mystery of growth, and to discern the conditions that promote blooming. I guess I’m glad that despite my many bloomless moments and seasons, God and others have not uprooted and discarded me.
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