I love spring. I love both of the transition seasons. Autumn being my favorite but spring ranks a close second. The whole new beginnings, mother Earth shaking off the dust of winter, rebirth anew, blah-blah-blah. I’m sure you know where that is headed. Last weekend Pops and I spent some time tearing out an old concrete pad that was poured back when we first built this house but no longer had a purpose and was just in the way when I mowed the lawn.
You can see here the circle in the foreground, with grass growing in it, is where I burned out an old stump last fall. And now, with the concrete pad out-of-the-way (you can guess where it used to be), this area will be much easier to mow once grass gets established.
Things around my house, now almost ten years old, are always in a state of transition. And April, being the last early month with an ‘r’ in it I needed to get those hosta’s…or is it hosti… cleaned up, transplanted, and set in their new locations. For you little leaguers out there, as Steve Stone likes to say, you only want to transplant your plants in a month that has an ‘r’ in it to insure the best chance they take well to their new location. Something to do with the temperatures I am sure. My mother-in-law taught me that little bit of gardening logic and if she says so, I believe it. She can turn sow’s ear of a piece of ground into a silk purse in no time.
Also in transition around our house these days is the maturation of my son. As a Junior in High School we have begun the trying task of researching colleges and career options and, of course, preparing for the SAT. Most of you remember the SAT. That dreaded day long exam that has you showing up to school on a SATURDAY, of all things, to take the single most important test that will determine your future earing potential. A rather weighty challenge indeed. So today, while I was working in the yard with my little project, he was inside taking a practice test of the SAT. It came in one of those ten inch thick books that gives you all the secrets about how to ace this silly little test and pave your way to riches. Of course all it really seems to do is frustrate and overwhelm you as much as the test itself does because there is simply no way to remember everything covered in all ten inches of that sucker!
Each section of this test runs about 25 minutes so I made it a point to drop what I was working on and pop in to get him started on each section as time expired on the previous test section (good father aren’t I?) (NO, not overbearing…simply caring…and concerned enough to make sure he doesn’t spend the next 25 years living in my basement) So, back out in the yard, between administering test sections to my soon to be college student, I am digging up those hosti’s…or is it hostas’s…plants, and manage to uncover this little reminder of just how fast time flies.
Like I said earlier, this house is almost ten years old. So, my son would have been around six or seven during the summer we were building this place. And it wasn’t unusual for him to tag along with me when we went to the new house to set windows or paint trim or any one of the hundred other tasks that go into building a new home. And somewhere along the way this little reminder got lost in the many piles of sand, buried under the topsoil, to one day be uncovered when I expected it the least but needed it the most. That reminder that they are not small forever. That, as the clock keeping time on his life speeds up, my own clock begins to tick a little faster too. And you can never have enough reminders to let you know where your priorities should lie.
Of course, finding this little reminder buried in the sand brought to mind how quickly that clock could run out too!
Remember all you little leaguers out there, be sure to call for locates prior to digging in the soil to avoid what could be a shocking experience!