Mongo and the Rock

Since I live in a 19th century town house, I don't really have a yard. My garden is a strip running around the four sides of my house, forming a hollow square from one to three feet wide.  In the last month or so, two new roundish objects have appeared in opposite corners of my garden. In the southwest corner in the back, a volunteer squash plant which appeared mysteriously in June has completely  commandeered the limestone walkway there. At first, when I just saw the leaves and flowers, I thought it might be a zucchini plant. But this is no zucchini! Meet Mongo:

A bit of online searching suggests that Mongo is a Knucklehead pumpkin. Mongo started out deep dark green, but in the last couple of days a bit of orange is starting to show, as you can see in the picture.  Despite the warty appearance, these pumpkins are perfectly edible.

Diametrically across from Mongo, in the northeast corner of my garden in front, an early birthday present has been installed, a lovely chunk of granite with streaky dark spots and flecks of mica and quartz. Meet Rock:

Landscapers call such objects boulders, but in this case that word strikes me as overkill.  It's really just a biggish rock. Michael and I had a lovely time last weekend visiting sand and gravel companies and landscape firms until we found a rock I like at a place that would deliver and install it (aging backs must be respected). 

So I found myself reflecting on Mongo and the rock. Unexpected (weird, gnarly) life in one corner; solid, steady rock in the other corner.

The Mongo vine is such an extraordinary outburst of life-force, with huge tough stems and gigantic leaves, that just appeared, unbidden and unexpected. And the rock was very deliberately chosen, brought in on purpose, and just sits there, connecting me both to my own roots and to all things that abide. Connecting: around here, the rock below the soil is limestone, because long before the dinosaurs this used to be the bed of a shallow inland sea. But where I grew up, in the piedmont of the Appalachians, the bedrock is granite, often breaking through the surface as real boulders and filling the streambeds as pebbles. Hence my granite birthday rock connects me to my roots.

Somewhere in between the sprouting of the Mongo vine and the installation of my birthday rock, I came to a decision. Last week I notified my directees and colleagues that I am retiring from spiritual direction ministry, after 30+ years. A number of factors came together into that decision, but one of them was surely a sense that it's time to embrace the new life springing up in unexpected shapes and directions--the Mongo factor. There were other factors as well, and the decision took its time crystallizing, but it did and still does feel right.

What comes next I will discover by going there. Some things already in place will now have room to flourish, and there is room for more to emerge. But what is clear is that as I face forward, it feels like I am standing on bedrock--hence my choice of birthday present.  And the gratuitous, outrageous vigor and lushness of Mongo are hope incarnate, enfleshed in a warty Knucklehead pumpkin.

P.S.: UPDATES:

The owl has been glazed and fired, and has found a home.

And the crape myrtles that I thought I had lost are in full and glorious bloom.