The Garden...or the Good Times? (June blog)

 

         “Summertime, and the livin’ is…” stressful!
          All of us who live in Montana’s short beautiful summer know what that means—all the outside work, all the outdoor fun, all the visiting company, all the places to go, all the family reunions, weddings, celebrations—happen all at once.
          It’s enough to make a type A, easily distracted, perfectionist like me little crazy. I find myself losing concentration on what I’m doing as I scroll long lists of all the other things I have to do. Or beating myself up with how little I do perfectly or even very well.
          For example, I spent a recent weekend at a grandson’s soccer tournament worrying about the flowers I needed to plant, regretting the extra day it took to watch him play in their division championship.
          How foolish!  For I got to see something that doesn’t come along every day: his team actually winning that championship. I saw his big grin as they hung a medal around his neck and posed for a joyous picture with his team.
          That was worth all the flowers in the world.
          I learned years ago, during Montana’s short, glorious summers, that I can have a perfect yard or I can enjoy the season. I can’t do both. It’s a lesson I have to re-learn every year.
          Now I’m not the gardener my mother was. Years of battling with Montana’s fickle weather—killing frost in July, snow in August—have worn out my enthusiasm for growing vegetables. But there are flower beds around the house; they must wear something besides weeds. There’s enough left of my mother’s perfectionism to want them to look good.
          However, if I want to have peace and enjoy this season, I must lay that down.
          So yes, my flowers are finally in. But no, the colors I wanted were gone by the time I got to the nursery. I see weeds everywhere. I’ll pull most of them… eventually. And trim the long grass around the garden…eventually.
          The garden is a long way from perfect, but it’s good enough.
          If I want perfection I’ll walk around my neighborhood and admire my neighbors’ gardens. They won’t be mine. But that’s okay.
          Life is short and precious.
          Years from now, I won’t recall what kind of garden I planted or how it looked. But I will always remember that tournament and the joy on my grandson’s face.
          Summers are short and precious, too. I pray for the wisdom to let the stress, the perfectionism, the distraction go. To enjoy the people, the fun and the season.
          Before all is gone.