Several summers ago, I was gardening wildflowers. It was therapeutic — weeding and watering the cosmos, blanket flowers, cornflowers, and other delicate beauties that graced the yard. They brought me more happiness than I could articulate. (This is probably largely due to the fact that I’m not a gardener-type at all, and plants that survive me are a mini miracle.)
When mid-August ushered in the beginning of the end of the growing season, I grew so depressed that I refused to work in the garden anymore. (A super mature response, of course.) At the time, it felt like that tiny piece of heaven-sent goodness was coming to a screeching halt, and I just couldn’t bear to watch it all end.
Then I stumbled upon the art of flower hammering.
Flower hammering literally involves hammering a flower, often between two pieces of paper. When pounded or hammered, the flowers leave an imprint. It’s so easy a kid can do it . . . but it’s so complex and satisfying that adults write books about the art.
It’s a great stress reliever if you want to make art and use a hammer. But, for the flower, it is a painful kind of art. After you hammer a flower, its petals are reduced to slop and have to be scraped off and chucked, thrown away. So why would any kind and loving person pick exquisite blooms and obliterate the life out of them?
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I am not a “sister,” but the hammered flower metaphor is beautiful, profound and encouraging, none the less.
Thank you Pearl.
Thank you, Christopher! I’m glad it was an encouragement! Brothers and sisters, alike, are welcome here!