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.
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.
