That Friday the 13th we left the building. Little souls filed out with nap towels to be washed and a heavy packet of quickly assembled papers weighing their little book bags down that already almost weighed what they did. Byes, I love yous, I’ll see you soons shakily rolled off of the tongues of big souls while those minds were reeling, spinning even.
We got the notice that morning via email that we would be closed for the next few weeks, the end of which we felt sure would encompass our spring break. Surely, we thought. That’s it. Then we will be back.
Surely.
I took down my Kindergarten March calendar stuff and switched it to April. I hastily got my April journal materials together to take home to work on while we were out. This classroom was going to be prepared for our re-entry. It’s an endearing annoying quality of mine that I get things done, son. Carpe diem! (Pumping the breaks is daily occurrence to me, which may imply impatience…but I’m not on the couch getting shrunk right now so I’ll save that rabbit to chase another blog.)
Teacher bag weighing heavily on my shoulder with things to do, mind weighing heavy with uncertainty, I flipped the light switch off in my classroom. Glancing at the windows with blinds purposely pulled high because we had recently “planted” seeds in the window (you know, ziploc baggie with a wet paper towel and a lima bean floating in the middle of it all and a sharpie name written across the top of it to indicate the planter), I closed the door to my classroom. The “Boom Boom Room,” for those of you who know…
Little did I know it was closing the door for the year, the book ending with no “The End,”an amazingly Irish Exit, as it were, and completely unplanned unlike most of my attempts at avoiding goodbyes.
I wasn’t ready. We weren’t ready.
The other day, I got to thinking about those seeds. How some were starting to sprout in that plexiglass double-pane window. Little shoots appearing like magic and though we don’t know when it’s going to actually happen, still doing all the preparing for it to do so. I mourned the process: Giving it water, sun, and some encouraging words. Yes, my friends. That’s called fertilizer. Sprinkling a little more water on the ones looking dried up and a little tired; those that hadn’t quite gotten there. All in the hopes of them to grow, grow, grow.
And then one beautiful, fine day, we usually see the fruits of our labor. Green! Stems! Even leaves! LIFE! That beautiful, fine day, is different for every seed, though. Which is what makes is so fun, so rewarding! Our hard work paid off! Those seeds that take more time take more time, more effort, new strategies, all in an effort to get them to produce what was hidden inside of them. Because it’s there. Tucked away, only to be coaxed out of the dark, the little shell enveloping it, by only a formula that works best for it. A little of this, a little more of that: it’s a formula that the Master Gardener gives those who tend when they seek His help. Sigh. I didn’t get to share that lesson with my kids this year.
I’m still thinking about those seeds. Those planted in my Kinder”garden” this year; those I was blessed enough to plant right there in room 205, even after they were uprooted about six weeks in to the school year and transplanted to my room because the other gardens were overcrowded. Room had to be made for them ALL to grow. I, along with my precious para, fertilized those seeds, watered them, and sometimes had to get rid of the bugs that threatened to disrupt our crop! We were seeing some green!, stems!, and even leaves! We were growing more every day. And those who needed a little more, we willfully gave it, all in the name of growth. I had to ask the Master Gardener daily for guidance in what these little seeds entrusted to us needed. He whispered it to us, and though I made lots of mistakes, we were reassured daily that we were still doing mostly the right things with hugs, I love yous, and invented spelling laden love letters. You know, like green on the vine.
It’s just what you do when you garden.
Maybe it was just me who wasn’t ready.
‘Cause despite the crazy ending to this year that didn’t include the end of the year harvest that I in my human nature long to see, as they leave our kinder”garden,” these little seeds of ours–ALL of ours–
they’re going to grow. And they’re going to be great!
I’ll be watching those little seeds through the window and know without a doubt that someOne much much bigger and all knowing than me has a plan for each one.
Maybe I wasn’t ready, but they are.
Oh my heart.
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