Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Autumnal

I traditionally ended the notes I sent in August with "Enjoy the fleeting days of summer." However, as the weeks of hot, dry weather continued here, I found myself adjusting to the new temperament of the seasons in the mid-Atlantic. No longer am I wishing that summer linger a bit longer. Rather, I am longing for the cooler days of  autumn which I am told is only second to spring in Virginia.
September is foreshadowing the upcoming season with a nip in the air one morning and a blustery wind another. The harvest moon was spectacular the other night as seen in a video from The Washington Post. And, as the days noticeably shorten, the autumnal equinox arrives this week.
This morning it rained steady and soaked the parched landscape. The mums bowed their heads, the berries dripped with moisture, and the leaves held onto each drop of water for as long as possible. I know the heat will return but not as intensely. Pumpkins are beginning to dot the landscape as I transition my wardrobe and dress the house in dabs of orange and yellow, too.
I would like to nap like the cat but am instead nesting, deeply appreciative of the weather and the quiet which allows thoughts to roam and creative juices to flow. I am prepping and planning for the busy months ahead. So much is new and yet one can rely on some things nonetheless. So, I close instead with "Enjoy the fullness of transitioning days this September, dear friends."

September
Linda Pastan

it rained in my sleep
and in the morning the fields were wet


I dreamed of artillery
of the thunder of horses

in the morning the fields were strewn
with twigs and leaves

as if after a battle
or a sudden journey

I went to sleep in the summer
I dreamed of rain

in the morning the fields were wet
and it was autumn





Thursday, September 15, 2016

Diversity


I have been thinking about our human propensity to want standardization and uniformity. We desire sameness, to be around those who look like us, think like us, believe the same things as us. With sameness comes inclusion and acceptance and safety but also apathy and boredom. In contrast, when you examine the biological world, it is filled with variability.




Simply look at the diversity of the natural world around you and note how it is ever changing, adapting, and evolving. No black and white here: nature embraces the complexity of grey. Such heterogeneity and ongoing adaptation may be to our benefit, or not, yet cannot help but inspire and challenge us to adapt in response.




Last weekend, I attended the Heritage Harvest Festival at Monticello. Monticello immerses you in the complex life of Thomas Jefferson, often called America's first botanist. I wandered through the flower and vegetable gardens, grape vines, orchard, and woodlands. With camera in hand, I snapped images of the diversity of beauty around me despite the intense heat.




Throughout my visit, I kept repeating Ralph Waldo Emerson's words, "Scatter joy!" I was reminded of the power of a single seed, the challenges a seedling faces as it bursts from the soil, and the potential of the diversity of living things to coexist and elicit happiness. Nothing like planting a seed and embracing difference.


Looking for the Differences
Tom Hennen

I am struck by the otherness of things rather than their same-
ness. The way a tiny pile of snow perches in the crook of a
branch in the tall pine, away by itself, high enough not to be
noticed by people, out of reach of stray dogs. It leans against
the scaly pine bark, busy at some existence that does not
need me.


It is the differences of objects that I love, that lift me toward
the rest of the universe, that amaze me. That each thing on
earth has its own soul, its own life, that each tree, each clod is
filled with the mud of its own star. I watch where I step and see
that the fallen leaf, old broken grass, an icy stone are placed in
exactly the right spot on the earth, carefully, royalty in their
own country.

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Letting Go


Less than two weeks ago, we dropped our older daughter off at her dorm to begin her freshman year of college. Here she is almost 17 years ago. When I look back, I realize that her personality was already fully developed back then: observant, full of pregame anxiety, intelligent, gentle, and kind. She is loving college life and even though we miss each other (this became evident, because I was a little too happy when she called today just to check in), I haven't been feeling any of  the "empty nest" syndrome you hear so much about.

Of course, we have our younger daughter at home, and she keeps us busy. And, we are still just beginning to settle into our new home. And, I can hear some of you thinking that she hasn't really left home yet and may even move back in after college as seems to be the case so often these days. I know, I know. Still, I have been reflecting on the idea that being a gardener isn't so different from being a parent and somehow has prepared me to let go.

When you garden just like when you parent, you prepare the soil to plant a seed. You dig and mulch and water and fertilize and weed and fend off pests. You celebrate the seedling and each blossom and mark their growth. You make mistakes: wrong plant, wrong place, wrong climate, wrong time of year. You realize that there is so much you can't control from disease to invasive species to weather. You learn. You keep at it. You give it time, set your face to the sun, and release all your hopes and dreams out into the universe. You tend. You work really hard. You nurture. You love in abundance.

As gardeners are apt, parents often forget that what is happening below the surface is perhaps more important than above the surface. All the growth in the root systems of plants remains unseen from us. Healthy soil, healthy roots, healthy plants. Think of all the time and effort that comes into play from planting to harvest. Same is true for our children. We cared for them completely, taught them how to think about themselves, others, and the world around them, set expectations and helped meet them through innumerable choices that fed into the health of their root system.

Eventually, we send them off to face life in the larger world at college or otherwise, realizing that only time will tell what the harvest will produce. We sit back and watch with some trepidation and a good dose of faith. There are so many things we wish we had done differently, better, or at all. No matter now. Parents are universally imperfect. We still tend just not as intensely. We let go. And, although once we led the way, now we follow. The fruits of our labor are yet to be tasted. Harvest season is just beginning.

Learning the Bicycle
Wyatt Prunty

The older children pedal past
To supper, bath, and bed, until at last
Stable as little gyros, spinning hard
We also quit, silent and tired
Beside the darkening yard where trees
Now shadow up instead of down.
Their predictable lengths can only tease
Her as, head lowered, she walks her bike alone
Somewhere between her wanting to ride
And her certainty she will always fall.
Tomorrow, though I will run behind,
Arms out to catch her, she’ll tilt then balance wide
Of my reach, till distance makes her small,
Smaller, beyond the place I stop and know
That to teach her I had to follow
And when she learned I had to let her go.