Yesterday was the Summer Solstice – the first day of Summer, the longest day (in daylight hours) of the year – and once again I’m reminded of the song “Turn” by the Byrds, which starts this way:
To everything Turn, turn, turn There is a season Turn, turn, turn
I delved into this in a previous post, noting some of the eternal truths about the passing of time: namely, that it’s fleeting, that the current state (whether good or bad) shall pass eventually, that there’s a season for everything.
Seasons change. But while they’re here, they have something to teach us.
In the Summer season, it’s all about growth.
This season is when the corn stalks get taller, the watermelons get fatter, and most produce (the seasonal crop, anyway) is ready to be picked.
The seeds that were planted weeks or months ago have grown into the fruits and vegetables and flowers that we enjoy now.
Of course, it wasn’t instantaneous. A lot happens between seed in the ground and tomato on the vine. Cultivating. Planting. Fertilizing. Weeding. Some seeds don’t make it and you try again. Because the growth is worth it.
I love the Summer analogy applied to life. I find it fascinating to ponder the moments I’ve spent cultivating relationships and opportunities, watching seeds of ideas come to fruition, laboring over fertilizing the good and enduring the painful weeding out of the bad.
Just like the berries and cucumbers and roses and tomatoes and gardenias and squash and hydrangeas I’ve been tending lately, the meticulous efforts of growth in my life are a lot of work. But so worth it.
As yesterday was Mother’s Day, I thought I’d share a story about learning that labor and delivery has many meanings.
Years ago, I was having some issues over what to do with my life. Now, it was nothing dramatic or weird. Nothing huge enough to be called an existential crisis (a term I dislike intensely: you already exist, just deal with it pretty much sums up my attitude), but it was a little more than a grumpy mood.
Conundrum is the word I’m looking for. I was in a conundrum because at the time I was a stay-at-home mom, up to my neck in diapers and formula and Sesame Street, and I wanted to be back doing a job and getting paid.
The trouble was I couldn’t find work making enough to clear daycare for three kids, and every time I thought about leaving them with someone else, I had major mom-guilt, plus going back to work meant I would miss Reading Rainbow and a day without LeVar Burton is a day without books and singing. (Butterfly in the sky … I can go twice as hiiiiigh … take a look … it’s in a book … Reading Rainbow!)
I wanted to stay at home with my kids. I loved it. I also wanted to go back to work. I loved it.
See the conundrum? Round and round I went.
I took my conundrum to my pastor, and she listened to me chase it round and round like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof (“… but on the other hand … but on the other hand …”) and never once rolled her eyes at my blathering, not even when I blurted out, as I was championing the cause of “the other hand”:
“If I’m not being a mother and taking care of kids, what would I do? Who would I be?”
(Part of me cringes at those words. But they came from a place of truth. At that time and place, that’s what was in my heart.)
She thought for a moment and said, “There are many things to labor over.”
Which stopped the chase.
She was right. There are many things to labor over, many things to give birth to and love and care for. Ideas to generate. Things to create. Even the general notion of creating is a birthing process.
I’ve thought about that conversation many times. And I’ve given thanks for it many times.
Yes, I did eventually go back to work, after the kids were a little older (two of them in school, one in daycare). And then a few years later I came back home to be a freelancer – for two reasons: 1. Because the corporate world wasn’t the greener pasture thought it was (I’m glad the “other hand” didn’t win out years earlier, because then I would’ve had yet another conundrum, squared); and 2. Because there are many things to labor over and give birth to and those things, for me, include creative works.
It should come as no surprise that when I dream about having babies or being in labor – which I do quite often – it’s always about a creative work. A novel. A screenplay. A series of ebooks. Something I’m laboring over. Something I’m giving birth to.
I am one of the approximately 1 zillion people trying their hands at raised-bed gardening.
I happen to know it’s that many because when you google (or bing or duckduckgo) “raised bed gardens” you get a hillion-jillion links to articles and videos, and this, of course, is the best indicator of what’s going on at any given moment.
We have a fairly sizable back yard, so we cleared out a patch of it and brought in various small containers and filled them with dirt.
And by we, I mean my husband. Because all this raking and clearing and hauling bags of dirt is hard work, and my job is writing about it.
(No, seriously, he’s much better at this whole “growing things” than I am.)
A few weeks ago, we did a day trip out to Mepkin Abbey for their plant sale and purchased some seedlings. Those monks really know what they’re doing when it comes to agriculture, and I like the idea of getting plants that have been prayed over.
We brought them home and popped them into the dirt. And now we wait – and mosey our way through the garden every day to see if anything is happening. (It is! Tomatoes are happening!)
When I thought about writing this blog post, I wondered whether I should do a tutorial or a photo spread or a short play.
And then I pulled on my background in journalism and considered how I would approach it if I were doing this article about someone else. In other words, what points would I want to go over, what insights would I want to reveal, what questions would I ask?
Here, then, is my interview with me on this topic:
Q: Why did I decide to do this garden? A: Well, why not? Raised-bed gardening is all the rage, and plus I have this vision of me popping out to the garden and gathering all kinds of veggies for lunch.
Q: The plants might not all be ready at the same time. A: Please don’t destroy my dreams.
Q: But why get into gardening now? It’s not as if I have lots of spare time on my hands. I already have a full plate, including a blog to keep up with. A: Look, me, stop trying to make me feel guilty. I want home-grown veggies is all.
Q: What experience do I have? A: Pretty much none. In fact, most plants that come under my care die an early death.
Q: What do I hope to gain from it? A: A vast storehouse of tomatoes. Also cucumbers, squash, zucchini, and … um … what else did I plant? Lots of veggies.
Q: What is the actual return on investment (ROI)? A: Okay, yes, we spent a lot on dirt and containers and plants to the tune of … let’s just say the tomatoes are going to be worth about $20 each. So what? I don’t like this line of questioning.
Q: What if it fails? A: What if it doesn’t?
Q: Answer the question. A: Fine. If it fails, I’ll have a cleared-out patch where I can build a labyrinth.
Q: Which will mean more money. A: You’re judgmental for a former journalist, aren’t you?
p.s. This is all in fun. I do enjoy gardening very much. And, as I mentioned in last week’s Haiku to You Too, it truly is Holy ground.
This I Do Declare post should have gone up Monday. Fact. I missed it because I was neck-deep in a project that took a lot of energy. Also fact.
And not only that: This is the first Right Now post I’ve done in a while, and that’s because I’ve been in high-productivity mode for a few weeks, which meant the mid-week post had to go on hiatus.
A touch of irony there. See, the Right Now posts are all about productivity, following through, keeping momentum, and making tough choices to stay focused and not get sidetracked. Things like: Do I keep going and meet the deadline on the paying gig, or do I set it aside and write a blog post? Do I push through to do everything until I’m completely exhausted, or do I get some sleep? Some choices make themselves.
So essentially, for the past few weeks, I was following my own advice.
Now, that doesn’t mean this blog is expendable or that my readers are less important than paying clients. Please hear me: I am dedicated to this blog and to all of you who take the time to visit, read, and respond. Fact.
I’ve simply come to grips with the reality that if my days are getting busier – and they are, which is a good thing (actually a fabulous thing, given the past year) – then my organizational methods need to scale with my increased activities.
When I started this blog almost a year ago, it was right after I’d been through a Covid-related RIF at my job. It was at the start of the pandemic, and lots of people were getting laid off, which meant finding another job was going to be difficult. I needed a reason to get out of bed, a task to focus on, a diversion from the scary headlines.
Last Friday (April 9) was my baptism birthday. That day would end up affecting every other day of my life, though I didn’t know it at the time because I was 3½. Being baptized into the Christian Faith and in the Lutheran Church has done more to shape my world view — how I relate to others, how I understand myself, how deeply instilled in me is the need we all have for mercy and forgiveness — than any other event.
Here’s a photo of me that day at the church — along with my older sister and younger brother who were baptized at the same time.
I’m the one in front, holding my Bible. With us are my grandfather (standing behind me), my grandmother (holding my brother), and my mother (on the far right, with a fabulous hat). My dad was overseas at the time.
The image is blurry, but I’m glad it was taken.
The set of circumstances that led to my baptism (full insights on that will be a post for another day) are interesting, one of those things where you can see God’s thumbprint all over it. I don’t think I’m unusual in this respect — God is interested in all of our journeys — but the fact is that my coming to be baptized represents one huge cosmic connect-the-dots of God’s design. And I mull over this quite often. More so the older I get.
Last Friday is also the commemoration date for Dietrich Bonhoeffer, one of my heroes. For many years, I wasn’t aware that I was baptized on the date of his death, and I’m positive that it wasn’t planned that way. But I like that this is my baptism date. It adds a layer to my reflections.
Here’s an image of him, along with one of his quotes, which I like to meditate on.
You’ve probably seen those memes floating around that talk about the 12 (or 15 or some crazy number) of seasons we have in the South. And it comes with a “you are here” arrow — because most of the time it’s hard to tell.
Except not really, because it’s true.
I think Mother Nature has no idea what season we’re in for the most part, so she just randomly picks one and drops it on us. At least that’s the best idea I’ve come up with so far. If I ever hear a better one, I’ll adopt that as gospel.
Inspired by all those other memes, I’ve come up with my own, specifically for Charleston. I don’t dare put an arrow in, because that could change by noon.