To Everything There is a Season

As the writer of Ecclesiastes wrote: "To everything there is a season" (Eccl 3:1). That is certainly evident within the garden. There is a season to plant, to harvest, to prune, to deadhead, to divide. And in each season, a new wonder is revealed. The bright tender shoots of Spring. The glorious blooms of Summer. The brilliant colours of Fall. The interesting textures of Winter.

I didn't always appreciate this. It used to be that in my ideal world, all plants would come to bloom (or foliage, depending on what I preferred), and just remain in their full glory year round. Like in my garden painting (which I still plan to complete one day, but in the meantime decorates our loft area), where all plants are blooming at the same time (which any gardener knows doesn't happen like this).

But the garden has been teaching me to appreciate the seasons and the successive revelations of foliage and flowers. One glorious display wanes and then gives way to a different one. Always different. Always new.

About a week ago, I noticed that the Solomon's seal was coming to the end of its flowering stage. The fuzzy bumblebees had stopped showing interest in the flowers, which dropped when the branch was touched:

It was time to remove the branches, and reveal the iris, still unopened, hiding in between:

Now a week later, the irises are providing their own wonderful display of colour:

Over time and in its quiet way, the garden has been teaching me to accept and embrace seasons and change, and even, in some way, my own mortality. In the same way, motherhood has also been working on me to understand and accept this circle of life. Where once I was only focussed on my personal ambitions and accomplishments, now I instead rejoice and share in the accomplishments of my children.

My daughter came home on Friday with the news that she was the top in her class in the Grade 4 Abel Math contest. I remember not so long ago being top in my class, and by Grade 10, place within the top 10 in the province, in the math contests. But now it is her turn (although I am careful to let her know that I don't expect any particular results from her, that I am already proud of her for just joining the Math club, and for trying). I am happy to rejoice that it is her "season" to excel. As it will soon by my son's. And I look forward to the day that their own unique display of abilities and accomplishments will succeed and outshine mine.