Peace Baby; a new mantra is born

I recently relocated to Portugal. As in, just. Arrived December 29, 2024.

Our home is in a relatively rural area (on the busiest street in that rural area …); but the sense of the place is rural, with sheep braying often and rooster crowing always. Birdsong punctuates the street noise and beeping cars.

Our property has multiple fruit trees; orange, lemon, apple, pomegranate, olive. It had (past tense) a huge grape vine. But the roof contractor trimmed it away from the house (killed it, actually) in a harsh prune back to the ancient vine. A vine as large as my upper arm. *Weep*

But I digress.

In the process of renewing this property that was empty for so long, there has been a lot of delayed maintenance. Massive amounts of pruning, tending, cleaning. Reclaiming buildings from ivy, picking up trash and broken glass and bits of remodeling debris.

But, also, new plants. New and exciting new plants!

We are a zone 10, a brand-new growing region for me. Winter here means massive rain with harsh winds. With an early Spring that starts in February with blooming camellias, abundant citrus and bright green grass.

When our budget allows, I go to the local plant nurseries. With every gardening mistake I have made through the years cautioning my impulses. I try not to buy just one of many things, but several of a few things. I try to remember that the scrawny lavender plant will become a shrub here. That the olive tree that looks like a twig will be planted for the next generation. Do not plant things too close to anything – the house, the fence, the wall.

And typically, I have been very sensible. Lavender and rosemary, two hardy plants that can make it through a hot dry summer. An avocado tree (!!!), several figs, and two gorgeous pink tulip magnolias, a nod to our former home in Southwestern Virginia. Parsley and chives and thyme and oregano, herbs I use frequently and have missed so much.

But last month, in the midst of a cloudy rain-drenched week, I wandered into one of our favorite plant places and spied this gorgeous little shrub. She was bedecked with fuzzy burgundy buds and revealed just one splendid blossom. I had no idea what she was, but the name of the plant is Tibouchina. And the specific type is “Peace Baby.”

There is a large stone wall outside my office window. My view is that wall and the road above it, cars and tractors and motos and the occasional enormous bus hurtle by as I meet with clients and record readings and work. The wall features a small triangular bed that holds another harshly pruned grape vine sporting one hopeful leaf. I decided to plant the Peace Baby there.

The first few weeks were tenuous, leaving the shelter of the greenhouse, she looked a little rattled by the rain and wind. The bloom quickly died; the buds seemed uncertain. But even then, she was serving her purpose.

Because every time I looked up, every time I looked outside, I would say to myself “Peace Baby.”

As the United States government crumbles into a mere memory of democracy and moral center; “Peace Baby.” As I fearfully look at my retirement accounts and I worry about my children’s future. “Peace Baby.” As I review the astrological portents and the life-changing astrology of March, 2025. “Peace; Baby.”

As the new mantra sinks in, I return to it again.

Peace, baby; Peace, baby. Peace.

Shanti,

Jill