It’s official: Spring is only two weeks away.
We’ve almost made it.
Almost.
In a concerted effort to expedite this seasonal transition, I’ve found myself spending an inordinate amount of time exploring and losing myself in greenhouses. True, this winter has been milder than most, but it has still been cold, dark, and gray in a way that will leave even the most buoyant spirits feeling depleted and uninspired. However, as I discovered in “WTF: What the Fern?,” spending some good R&R time amidst “spring green” foliage yields countless curative benefits.
And while plants possess this type of magical healing property themselves, this effect only magnifies when paired with other soothing, restorative activities that prompt us to push boundaries, explore different angles, and experiment with something new.
Several weekends ago my friend Dixie and I decided to treat ourselves to some yoga in the greenhouse at Tonkadale. New to this type of yoga practice and not fully knowing what to expect, we arrived to discover a whole pack of yogis had taken over one of the sunniest corners of the greenhouse. Hair tied back and yoga mat rolled out, I removed my winter boots and socks and marveled as my toes experienced the unexpected miracle of being bare, exposed, and yet warm beneath the glorious winter sun.
Our instructor began class by welcoming newcomers and highlighting one “regular” who had brought her grandmother, Harriet, to the greenhouse to celebrate her 94th birthday. This was Harriet’s first time doing yoga—ever—and our instructor wanted to recognize her bold determination to try something new, even in her old age. Thus, we all sang “Happy Birthday” in Harriet’s honor, creating a moment that was as equally inspiring as it was heartwarming. In that instant, the easy sense of camaraderie and community was palpable, and I was excited to embark on an hour of mindful meditation and yoga flow amidst the company of such vibrant, positive energy.
As we moved from child’s pose to downward facing dog, Dixie and I soon learned this wasn’t simply traditional yoga, but partner yoga, a particular genre that intentionally utilizes two people to execute every pose. This type of yoga includes both partner-assisted stretches (where one person adjusts the other into a deeper hold) and a series of partner poses (where both individuals work in tandem to perform and sustain each movement). Admittedly, we were both a bit foreign to this concept, but we embraced the opportunity to try something new and worked together to move through each subsequent stage of our shared yoga practice. And while there were several unsteady holds, some serious partner wobbling, and a fair bit of giggling as we jokingly encouraged one another to stare deeply into the other person’s eyes[1], we both enjoyed losing ourselves in the shared movement and appreciated the unexpected opportunity to connect with something greater than ourselves. As I lay in “savasana” to absorb the total effects of our joint practice, I found myself gazing in wonder at the cloudless blue sky and feeling renewed as the sun beamed through the greenhouse, caressed my cheeks, and warmed my soul.
Invigorated by this “spring green” excursion to Tonkadale, the following weekend we again elected to try something new and ventured to another greenhouse Dixie had been eyeing for quite a while: Mother Co., Plants.
Like many other businesses in Northeast Minneapolis, Mother is located in a recently converted warehouse and is so off the beaten path that you simply wouldn’t find it unless you knew what you were looking for. Luckily, we knew what we were looking for, and when we climbed the worn metal stairs and walked through the creaking industrial doors, we were delighted to find a veritable oasis filled to the brim with exotic desert plants. From the most isolated regions of Mexico to the most obscure countries in Africa, Mother defines itself by curating specialty species readily unavailable to the average plant parent.
And while the plants are certainly strange, other, and intoxicatingly appealing, perhaps the most intriguing aspect of visiting Mother involves the highly underrated opportunity for endless people watching. Mother’s patrons run the gamut from trendy millennials who are far too willing to pay an asininely preposterous price for half-dead cacti to free-spirited, bra-less individuals who arguably spend too much time dwelling amongst plants and not enough time living in reality.
While Mother wasn’t necessarily what we were expecting it might be, we both enjoyed the change of scenery and welcomed the opportunity to feel like we were vacationing in the desert without traveling more than a couple miles from home.
With very little effort Mother brought me back to my time living in Tucson and warmed my bones in a way only the arid desert truly can. While we didn’t engage in a specific activity during our visit, perusing the eclectic greenhouse served as a fascinating endeavor in and of itself. Indeed, as we left, I felt one step further from the dull days of winter and one step closer to the warm promise of spring.
Eager to sustain this high, last weekend Dixie and I participated in a spring wreathmaking workshop at Tonkadale. Eager to put our wreathmaking skills to the test, we arrived with fresh palates and open minds, curious to uncover what we might create. Our guide, Jessie, led us through a brief demonstration—during which she told us of her dream-turned-nightmare from the evening before and donned a sample wreath as an early Easter bonnet—and explained how we might create the most balanced, visually-appealing wreaths by combining one part floral with one part green stem and one part pod. Then, Jessie let us loose to peruse the greenhouse to mix and match faux stems and design an aesthetically-appealing trio that caught our eye. With that thirty or so women descended upon the store floor with creativity in their hearts and competition in their eyes and aggressively began plucking and hoarding stems they might utilize to bring their spring creations to life[2].
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Dixie and I divided, conquered, and ultimately settled on a nearly identical floral trio before heading back to our work stations to gather our wreaths and familiarize ourselves with our supplies. We both opted for more traditional grapevine wreath and then used this existing structure to take a non-traditional approach by cutting some of the binding vines with pruners so the wreath took on a looser, more organic, modern look.
Then, we twisted our selected stems into a variety of creative arrangements and placed them in various locations across our wreath, visually testing the design and appeal as we worked. Again, perhaps unsurprisingly, we both independently decided that “less is more” and similarly adopted a minimalistic approach as we attached our florals to the wreath frame with numerous zip ties[3].
We zipped, we tied, we snapped, we rearranged, and then zipped and tied again, working diligently as we crafted our wreaths into the precise shapes and structures we envisioned. We were pleased with our end products, and I was excited to bring this fresh breath of possibility into my home.
Spring is all about life, promise, and new opportunity: It is the season of rebirth, and renewal can be found with every flowering bulb and budding stem. Whether you lose yourself in a greenhouse or explore a new activity, as we prepare to enter this glorious season consider ways you might challenge yourself to find renewal and seek opportunity.
Experiment. Explore. Create. Renew. You might stand tobesurprised by what you discover.
[1] Note, this was not a specific instruction; rather, without words we mutually agreed that it would add a certain flavor to the otherwise comical situation that we both desperately craved. Hence, the giggling.
[2] I would be lying if I didn’t say things became a tad aggressive. Makes sense, I guess. Because, you know, faux plants: Got to catch ‘em all.
[3] And when I say we took a “minimalistic approach,” I truly mean it. Dixie and I were certainly in the minority at this workshop, as our peers all seemed to compete in a “who can throw the most shit on a single wreath” competition we didn’t know was transpiring. I mean, I’m all for flowers, but I’m fairly certain spring exploded (read: vomited) on several participants’ wreaths, and drowned their original grapevine structure in a sea of plastic, satin, and floral mockery. Not a good look.
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