Small miracles

Several years ago, I don't remember exactly when, I bought a pinkish-violet trinitaria (a bougainvillea plant) at a farmer's market because my husband loved the glorious trinitaria plants that grow all over Puerto Rico. We had one such trinitaria bush in the front of our first house in Guaynabo, which had bright magenta flowers and which grew so thick and strong that my husband, in cutting it back, found that it had nearly grown as thick as a tree trunk.

Ohio is definitely not bougainvillea country so it was odd to come across the lonely little plant at the farmer's market. Full of an emigrant's pathetic hope that I might just be able to transplant something of my native land into a completely inhospitable soil, and with visions of summers filled with trinitaria blooms, I brought it home.

In the several years I've had the plant, though, I only remember it blooming perhaps once. Summers have come and gone and the trinitaria has refused to bloom, even when it was set outside in full sun. It has certainly never liked Ohio winters and usually drops most of its leaves, which also tend to turn a worrisome yellow color. I thought it was altogether dormant and on perpetual strike until this winter when, surprise surprise, it has bloomed for the first time in recent memory.

It must really like its position right in front of the large window on our second floor "reading room" and it must be warm enough and dry enough that it finally feels like it might just have found a home away from home. Its delicate, paper thin blooms are a delight to see, especially when the sun hits the plant and the dark green of its leaves contrasts with the almost ethereal color of its few flowers.

It's one of those small miracles that life is filled with but that you really have to stop and look to notice. Otherwise, if one is too busy, too self-involved, or too prone to find reasons to be angry at the world, one might miss them. And what a shame that would be.