They keep growing. When I’m not watching is when it happens the most and there are times when I actually hope to see no new height, no expansion into some deeper area of the garden. Day to day, it can be hard to see, but watch across a series of pictures and you will note the changes…
When did that happen? Is that my garden? It just looks like.. soil still in my mind.
For me the greatest time of the year is when the garden has barely begun. The days are getting warmer, trees are filling out, the frogs return at night and I see the stars again. Summer waits while spring shrinks. Plants aren’t plants yet.. they’re seeds or starts or a box on a piece of graph paper. What will happen this year?
The garden fills quickly then. Peas, broccoli, lettuce. Tomatoes are in, potatoes are sprouting. And still it’s about the potential of the space – I drew it all out in December and here it is happening precisely as I imagined. But I’d like to keep it young for a while because when the plants age, it means summer is passing. Just a few more perfect days please… more sun, more blue skies, more time with friends and family.
When vacation hits it means leaving the garden to grow a while without me. So. Blight. Welcome again to my peaking summer.
Vacation with my wife, our two sons, our best friends and their three kids is about learning that it’s amazing to watch the children. This is their vacation and I selfishly hope that they are deliberately storing every moment away… I remember when I was a kid.. we always vacationed with our best friends.. we had a blast.
Vacation is best viewed now at a small distance. Kyle and Devon bravely jumping from the dock, Kate, Seth and Sean slapping the water, Chris cooking, Jen playing, Julie (who made it all happen to begin with) making every thing warm and perfect.
I watch as Kyle builds a sand castle, his first with really wet sand. He is.. imagining something, his skin is lightly tanned. I follow the end of his foot, toes digging absently, up the line of his leg, past his waist, his arm is braced. His small shoulder blade pressing tightly through his skin. He is… tiny. Huge. So big.
Too big. Stop growing and let’s just imagine a little bit longer.