#22

Several years ago when a landscaper helped us lay out the large plant groupings in our front yard, she sketched a map of the plants and gave each one a number. It so happened that our daughter, in third grade that year, had the same number of students in her classroom. In her mind, plants #1 - #26 corresponded to each of her classmates. She was #22, a lovely and delicate mountain laurel.

That same year she came home one day from school and told us that her computer teacher, who identified the kids by number rather than by name, called on her in response to her hand raised in the air and said, with a degree of irritation, “What is it, #22?”

(As my uncle used to say, death isn’t the only great leveler. So are the public schools.)

Well, the story continues (as all stories do), and #22 grew up and this month turns 21. Her path, like her corresponding mountain laurel, has taken some unexpected nosedives. Beset with a rare health condition that plagued her on and off during childhood, she nonetheless managed to thrive in sometimes harsh conditions.

Her mountain laurel, though, didn’t make it through a drought one year. We replaced it with the Daphne pictured above, the new #22. Though not botanically related to the mountain laurel, Daphne means “laurel” and, as such, remains connected to the original plant.

The Daphne, it turns out, suits our daughter better. It’s a hardier plant and takes good care of itself. And it blooms in the late winter when not much else is happening in the yard and brings joy at just the right time.

We still joke now and then about that thoughtless computer teacher. When our daughter has a question, we sometimes say, “What is it, #22?” But the truth is, #22 wasn’t brought down; she wasn’t leveled by the public schools, by her health, or by the other trials that come with life.

Like her sturdy Daphne, she’s ready to bloom—even in the winter.