|dee_burris (dee_burris) wrote,|
@ 2012-11-10 11:05 am UTC
|Entry tags:||a letter to my son|
I walked around the garden this morning. As I write this to you, I am on the back porch (yes, I know technically it's a deck, but I say it's a porch), looking down the path of the west garden.
The gardens - I think of them as 3 rooms - have matured in these 18 years.
So have I.
So have you.
As I write, I hear the shouts and laughter of two young boys, playing in what's left of the woods. They have make-believe swords out there, fallen limbs from trees. They're swiping at each other, lone warriors in make-believe armies.
They are exercising their minds, not sitting in front of mind-numbing electronic entertainment all day.
You were like that. Given a choice, you'd always rather be outside than in. I was glad of that.
At the time, I didn't put it down to your love of nature. The love I see now when you go camping, or spend time down at the river.
We are not so different, you and I. But you are still your own person.
Aha! Another striking similarity.
When we first moved here, I spent a lot of time in the spring, summer and autumn in the garden.
Digging in the earth renews my soul. I don't think I consciously realized that with every gravel path I made, or tree I planted...the constant experimentation with water features, rearranging of porch furniture, setting of stepping stones...
I was laying a foundation for watching the cycles of nature, carried out before my very eyes. I am reaping the harvest every time I walk down a garden path and feel the cool breeze and swirling leaves falling.
I am in awe.
You know I don't believe in coincidence.
So wasn't it a hoot as you were just here, talking about when you were a kid how I told you over and over to be careful, because something had to last me 20 more years?
You told me when you have to dispose of the stuff in the cottage, you are going to say that everything is antique, because after all, it had to last me 20 more years...
That was a memory I had forgotten.
Your sense of humor has always been a gift - to you, and also to me.
I think it is something you got from your dad. He and I may have been a lousy couple, but I know we - together - were good parents.
Because you have become a very fine man.
Don't forget to soak in some nature, son.
It renews your soul.
I love you more.