In early spring, before most plants begin to emerge, a few are already thriving. They grow quickly. They spread steadily. They claim space before anything else has a chance. They are usually categorized as weeds or invasive plants. And they are often the ones we try to remove. But it’s hard not to notice how effective they are at what they do. This week I reflect on what we might learn from these invasive plants.

There’s something about early spring on the trail where not everything is green yet and not everything looks alive. Fallen trees stretch across the ground. Branches remain where they landed. The forest hasn’t fully “recovered.” And yet, if you look closely, that’s where the new growth begins. Small shoots pushing through softened wood. Fresh green rising from what once fell. It’s not separate from what came before – it’s because of it. Some of the most meaningful growth doesn’t come from untouched ground. It comes from what made space. This week’s blog is a reflection of that emerging beauty.

There are seasons when the work grows thick around us. Not just the hard work. Even the good work. The progress. The small wins. The steady movement forward. It all layers together. And before we realize it, the view narrows. Clarity doesn’t always come from doing more. Sometimes it comes from stepping back long enough to see where the work is actually leading.