In Carol Drinkwater’s memoir The Olive Farm, she and her partner wait out a week of heavy rains inside their ramshackle old villa on their olive farm in the south of France. When the skies finally clear, Drinkwater walks her terraces to take stock of the damage and – to her surprise – the rejuvenation that now mark the land. One particular sight takes her breath away:
The orange trees, dead as mummies when we bought the house [a year ago] and which we have watched creeping back to life throughout the summer months, are now sharp, five feet tall, brilliant green spheres of life. And, what is more miraculous to me, they are laden with round green balls. Minuscule oranges.
Such renascence hardly seems possible. I close my eyes. I store that fact that rebirth is a resource of life. . . . Some creeping shadow warns me that I will need to keep it in mind.
Rebirth is a resource of life. How beautiful and how true. The earth is resilient. Nature is resilient. We are resilient. Even from a point of hopelessness, from an appearance of atrophy or extinction, we can bounce back to health and brilliance. All that is needed are time and proper care.
Never give up on anything, or anyone. Never judge a landscape, or a person, by its outward appearance. What lies beneath and within is a dazzling energy that may soon burst forth again.