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 A few years ago my husband and I moved to China for a four-year commitment. We needed renter/ house sitters and some friends needed a place.  We moved out; they moved in.  They were diligent to keep everything clean inside this old farm house  and to conquer the weeds and bushes that attempt to control the large landscape.  

They were so conscientious that they decided to dig out a deep-rooted shrub that looked like it wanted to unsettle the well house in its space.  When we returned from our overseas adventure, our friend apologized for not being able to dig out that old bush.  Little did he know that we were delighted he failed.   

That deep-rooted bush is our beloved fig bush, planted here when the place belonged to Mawmaw, and it has been bearing fruit faithfully for three generations. Although it had been cut down to the very ground, it grew like Jack’s magic bean stalk that very first summer of our return, and it continues to  produce two bountiful harvests of sweet, plump figs each year since. 

I identify with that  bush. Although it was mistaken for a shrub, it was strong and deeply rooted as a fig tree!  

Once I was a young artist with pencils, crayons, and stacks of my siblings’ old homework papers with unused space on which I could draw.  Roots of the artist passion were starting to grow.  Years brought distractions of all kinds—responsibilities, relationships, needs, other callings—but roots showed themselves whenever the soil of opportunity allowed.  And now that I’m in the golden years of life, I find that the roots are so deep that no matter how much life has hacked away at the art life, fruit keeps coming. 

Although I might be mistaken for many things, I seem to be rooted as an artist. 

Can you identify? Are you deeply rooted?