In Kindergarten, I attended a little Montessori school in a little town at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Always a step away from something grand, I played the sun in our solar system play. I learned how to drink water from open, glass cups without breaking them and how to crisscross the green, purple, and white threads on a wooden plank into a braid.
My first daughter goes to Kindergarten this week, and her world will continue to open up with each new experience and friendship, hardship and success.
Her birthday is also at this time of year, and we celebrated with friends and family. Having them to our home meant I would want to trim and cull the rampant plant growth that happens as the summer sun continues to coax them on and up and around everything. I am reminded of the mesmerizing “if humans disappeared here’s what would happen next” videos at this time of year… Yes, plants would take the F over.
Especially, the Virginia Creeper.
Plants lead to more plants, I thought, as I snipped and snapped the hedges and the vines, the garden pockets of this and that. As I decided what was enough and what needed more, finally raking it all into a pile, into the wheelbarrow, and over the fence.
When the road is more road…
When the rubber meets the road…
When our truth gets to shine out like the sun.