My daughter is running, skirt and hair flying, arms pumping, bursting in the door to proclaim the good news: Mom! A zucchini! I follow her outside, unable to resist her joy. She picks up a stick and gently, reverently, moves the giant leaves aside to point at her discovery. There it is: a smooth, green, baby zucchini, beautiful and full of potential, quietly astonishing. We admire together, and share the delight of noticing this good fruit.
Proof that there is beauty here, too. In the last week or so, I have felt it... the prickle of the beginning of a yearning for spring. It varies, year-to-year, when this hits. Sometimes, I can make it all the way through to February, especially if the sun shines on sparkly snow and I regularly go out snowshoeing and I have lots of good books to read. But, this year, so far, it has often been gray and cold and windy, and we were sick through Christmas, and I slipped on the ice this morning. So when that first seed catalog hit my mailbox, my optimistic "enjoy every season" discipline slipped, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine the summertime garden and warm sun on my shoulders. Big Mistake. Each year, regardless of when it starts, the longing slowly increases. My mind wanders to green things growing, barn swallows returning, and goats munching on weeds. I start to think of the shovel in my hands, the smell of spring dirt, the taste of snap peas. The wish for spring ...
My son was putting up an impressive fight about having to go outside and help his dad with chores instead of his preferred activity, reading a book. The fresh air will be good for you, I said. You might learn something, I said. You get to hang out with your dad, I said. And then, finally: GET OUT THERE. THIS IS LIFE. LIFE IS WORK, AND YOU NEED TO FIND A WAY TO ENJOY IT. Maybe a bit dramatic, I'll concede, but I stand by it. So much of life is simply hard work, and it doesn't have to be seen as pointless drudgery, a necessary evil to get through so that we can enjoy the results of our labor. Too often, when we start a project, all that we are envisioning is the outcome, and we forget to account for the work that will happen along the way. I plant a garden in the spring, dreaming of a delicious home-grown tomato but forgetting about the hours of weeding. I assign a project to my students, thinking of them presenting all they have learned, not accounting for all the guidance that...