No seeds are alike. A parsnip seed can float away with a simple exhale. Some are flat, and some so tiny that you lose sight of them, toss them into the dirt, and cross your fingers that they sprout. I have fallen in love with seeds. Oh my. Sometimes, I have to laugh at myself just saying that. How granola or crunchy I may seem.
I can only imagine that my neighbors think I am bonkers. Anxiously awaiting the hubby to get home so I can show him the growth of the vegetables by the light of our iphones. Running frantically in the rain storms to cover and protect the baby plants. Having my boys chase off the rabbits coming to eat our future.
I think of people. How easy it is to stereotype. To think that we know. But just like the instructions on the back of the packet, each seed has special needs. Some can handle being pushed down deep. Some do better up at the surface. Some need to be distanced away from others because it will crowd their style. Life is about perspective, seeing where one another is coming from. And essentially seeing the treasure that they are.
Gardening teaches my sons about life. And not just their thriving growing minds, but my own heart and soul. Each day, we gather and discuss how wondrous it is that a plant can grow. The amount of pressure it takes bursting out of the dirt. That life is full of hard work. If we do not water, the plants die. If we do not weed, the plants are deprived.
One of the greatest truths I am learning in this season is that protecting your harvest from weeds, insects, animals, and stress can only happen when you are closely paying attention. Morning and night, I examine the plants, looking for signs of stress and invasion. In just a day, a swarm of insects can come to devour. A tiny seedling may have no chance to thrive when ripped off by its prey.
This truth correlates in my life with raising the boys. Little parts can be bitten off of me one by one. Full abundance and joy can be deprived in the day to day obligations. The consistent mess. Feeling like I am in a sports game, where one second they are all playing as a team, and the next second running after each other like a bunch of barbarians.
Friends, mothers, and fathers. Let us not hinder our children, by forgetting who they are. But appreciate the gift that they are. They made us parents. To not let their dogmatic child arguments dictate our feelings, or levels of stress. To not become so wrapped up in the daily chores of preparing for their potential that we unknowingly limit how high they will grow and how far they have come. Let us beware of predators that come to steal, kill, and destroy what belongs to us. Let us take the necessary precautions to protect our sweet ones, and nourish our own hearts to provide the necessities.
And when we sow, prune, weed, water, bring light, that we remember where all these good gifts came from. That we aren’t capable of tending them without support. Just as a sugar snap pea needs that extra guidance to find a stable system to hold on to, see the significance in that the foundation that we lay before our children will one day bring great rewards. Those 15, 10 and so on hours of labor was not the end. As “cliche” as it may be, I will continue to labor in love for our children. I will fight for my sons. For the joy of our home.