Children's Garden - Part 3: Failure

I have considered Froebel's concept of 'Kindergarten' and applied the act of weeding to the need for discipline within education, but how to we deal with failure? Why do some children never bloom? Why are some incapable of growth? Should we ever give up on a child, or ask for help?
I do not value interference in my garden.  It is something I do alone, and take pride in. On occasion I have  consulted the internet, or Google Photos for advice. I prefer to learn by observation.  Someone I know described it as "shotgun gardening", because if you shoot enough you'll eventually hit something.  I can relate: thinking that if I plant enough...

But a tree was growing up in the middle of my flowers.  It had to go, but I didn't have to tools necessary.  I had to call in my father-in-law with a tractor.  Similarly, as a new teacher, I was frustrated by a student whose needs where beyond my capabilities.  A wise supervisor quietly moved the boy into a more experienced teacher's class, and we were both able to make progress that year. We cannot be 'shotgun teachers'.  We can't afford to lose many along the way.  Specialists should be consulted more often and young teachers encouraged to ask for help.  When asking for help is seen as failure, then you are in the wrong school. I learned that the hard way.
I am an avid pruner.  I deadhead and cut back and remove anything past its prime. However, I am beginning to realize that all this pruning is more for my benefit.  It makes the garden looks neater, clears space for some more manmade features and gives me a sense of accomplishing something.  But not all pruning is good for the plant.
My hydrangea has never flowered.  I finally found out it is because of my pruning it too early in the spring. Apparently it needs to be just left alone, no matter how much the dead branches bother me.

 Not every plant needs my constant care. It is possible to overwater, overfeed and over-plant. I love the idea of finding an unhealthy looking plant on sale, repotting it and cutting off the dead bits.  Often the plant, despite my attentions, dies or refuses to grow. I probably would be better off letting it be for a bit, and attempting to find out its real needs.  Not every child needs me hovering over them, monitoring their every move. Independence needs to be nurtured, and children will learn to ask for what they need.
And I can't save every dying plant on the CLEARANCE rack.  Many have been through too much: forced to bloom too early, deprived of sunlight and space, and quickly discarded.  I am learning to appreciate them in whatever form they come in, broken or healthy, because the simple fact that they have life,.. gives me life.

Children's Garden - Part 2 : Discipline

On the eve of a new school year, also finding the summer coming to an end, I find parallels between the flowering plants and my students. This is nothing ground breaking, just thoughts that help me make sense of the difficult profession of teaching.
As I take on gardening, I am learning a lot about weeds. Many I did not know were weeds, and let them grow, waiting for them to flower. Eventually I had to pull them because they were invasive and hogged the space and light. They also hogged my attention as I fretted over the reemerging thistles and dandelions.  I consulted on how to eradicate them so that they didn't show up in the garden anymore.

Now, let me get this clear.  I do not believe that some children are weeds, but some behaviors develop much like weeds do in a garden. They eclipse the beauty of the garden, diminish learning and monopolize the teacher's time. Those behaviors have to go, and the sooner the better.  Some can be dealt with quickly, with a quick tug, or direct word.  Others will persist.
One place weeds flourish is in the bare spots, where nothing else grows.  I found that if I fill those with delicate grasses or tall stemmed flowers, then the weeds lose their ground. Just as children forget their attention getting bad behaviors when we focus their attention on new ways that help them shine.

And so I am learning to deal with the weeds.  And I choose to let some stay in the garden.  The milkweed feeds the monarchs, the creepy bellflower adds elegance and color.  I also allow tall grasses to grow at the back of the flower bed.  I actually plant obnoxious mint, Creeping Jenny and Bishop's Weed.  At times I must be ruthless with them to curb their growth, but I like their feistiness. In this way I pick my battles because not everything needs to have my unique stamp on it.  Nature, like children, must be allowed its individuality.
Other gardeners will disagree.  They won't tolerate the unpredictable behavior of the Surprise Lilies that wilt in spring before taking their time deciding when to flower.  They are wary of letting flowers seed themselves down for fear of the babies popping up in unwanted places. This doesn't bother me and I encourage the wild flowers to take over the pathways. This has to do with style and not everyone has to agree how things grow, just that they do.

Finally there are the bugs, those hiccups that threaten to derail learning.  An experienced gardener knows not to stomp on everything that moves, and when to bring out the spray. Some bugs are harmless (although they look scary), like the grapevine beetle.  It is a mere curiosity and makes an excellent talking point. But the Cabbage White eating my kale is not. After various environmentally friendly tries at solving the problem, I finally had to use something stronger. Unfortunately there are those dangers in the classroom that cannot be ignored, and must be dealt with head on. However, as I become more aware of these creatures' habits, I am less likely to come down heavy right away.  The caterpillars may eat the leaves, but they will also pollinate the flowers later. This devilish looking hawk moth is solely responsible for my beautiful scarlet bee balm flowers this year. Sometimes, in finding solutions to our problems in the classroom, we become more knowledgeable of how we interact and what we need to .... bloom.

Children's Garden -Part 1: Appreciating Diversity

On the eve of a new school year, also finding the summer coming to an end, I find parallels between the flowering plants and my students. This is nothing ground breaking, just thoughts that help me make sense of the difficult profession of teaching. 
This morning I spent time cutting off the spent blooms of my phlox. They make my garden glorious with their large blooms, but when they are done they are an eye sore.  I could just trim the tops and hope that they come back to flower again, but I'd rather they were gone. Some show signs of blight, no doubt because of overcrowding, and need to be pulled out.  Now, not only does my garden look better, but other plants now have room to grow and bloom.

The phlox do tend to take over the beds, and they are tall!  But I always wait until they have flowered before I let them go.  I like the way they flower late, like the finale of a firework show. They have been growing, preparing to bloom all year. How can I deny them their moment in the show?
Fortunately not every flower blooms in August.  That would lead to a very boring garden. Each flower has its time, and blooming pattern. It is something to learn and anticipate, and celebrate when they come into their own.
A classroom of children will have early and late bloomers, those that stand out more than others; shy and hiding beneath their leaves, or climbers aiming to reach the sky.  This diversity shows itself not only in character and learning style, but in social economic background as well.  The native wildflowers grow strong and thick, while the sensitive English lavender or tropical canna require much more care.
What each child needs and when is the secret to teaching.  Most often they will bloom where and when they are most comfortable, I am can try a few different situations until I get it right.  Success and failure are both part of the equation.

Many want to fill their yard with annuals.  They flower continuously throughout summer and will bring you lots admiration from others.  There is little work involved (mainly money) and you will seem like an expert gardener.  Children are not annuals.  You cannot buy their learning and a classroom full of all the latest technology will not necessarily bring them success. They don't become pot-worthy over night. They will take time, go through an awkward stage and simply refuse to bloom until they are ready. And children are messy.  They are forever getting themselves where they shouldn't be and growing the wrong way.  They need constant monitoring while they are in our care.
I grew a morning glory from seed last April and moved its location three times before it really took off.  Once started, it grew 4-5 inches a day and I had to provide it with support with stakes and wire. 

It was grown up as far as it can go on the feeder pole. Each day I helped it wind its way round and watered it.  Now what? There is not much else I can do.  Now it will have to decide on its own.  And it still hasn't flowered.
The hostas are a gardeners staple. They are well behaved, will thrive even when ignored, and make the garden look healthy and well kept. There are students that I know I can count on to make me look good. They aim to please and make little fuss.  They are easy to forget until... they decide to send out an unexpectedly long flower stem.  It is their way of saying, "Remember me?"   To the humble hasta:

Bravo! Well done, you good and faithful companion.  The flighty butterflies may pass you by, but the hummingbirds will visit your tall flowers on their way south for the winter. In your honor I created a separate garden in the shade where your type of beauty will be appreciated, and will not be crowded out of view by the other ground cover. But I left you in my other flower beds too, because 

they wouldn't be the same without you.

What the Cicadas Taught Me

Cicadas have always been apart of my life. Growing up in Brazil we caught and played with both the insects and their shed exoskeletons. Ugly and loud, they were just scary enough to be intriguing. I associated cicadas with hot weather and wrongly assumed they were a tropical insect.  The North American variety has evolved to survive ice ages, cold summers and glaciers.  It stays underground for 13 or 17 years before emerging in the heat of the summer to develop flight and reproduce. I don't encounter many, but after finding one among my bean plants, I started to find their discarded shells everywhere, especially on my grape vine.

Now I am very attached to my garden.  We read, "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Matt 6:21)  Well, my garden is my treasure, and I have put all my heart (to say nothing of my sweat and quite a bit of my money) into it. I justify the time I spend gardening as being healthy for both my mind and body, as well as being something that grounds me and helps me to feel settled in small town Minnesota.  I love to gaze out at my flowers through the window, and take a walk in the garden in the early morning. I enjoy watering and pruning, planting and replanting. If I have been away, I can hardly wait to come home and see what has grown, or started to flower. I check the grapes and tomatoes for ripeness, catch my breath over the sight of a small frog or kaleidoscope of butterflies, mourn over an abandoned egg, and celebrate the discovery of a new (to my knowledge) species of plant or animal. 

On social media I watch my friends take off,  on their way to an overseas post.  My sons prepare to move, go back to school and start a new job. Not me.  I am concentrating on the fact that it is apple-pie-time and plans to can tomato chutney.  Could I move on, and leave my garden? That is a difficult question. I still remember the stress of moving each August to start a new job in a new country with all the packing and paperwork.  It was exciting until it got stressful.  Just as I think I'll just stay put and enjoy my garden, I find the cast-off skin of the cicada.  It was willing to leave even its skin behind as it ventured upward and onward. I notice also that everything in my garden is in motion, ready to move on.  The flowers bloom, then go to seed; the cucumbers fade away exhausted; the butterfly takes one sip and moves on; the squirrels never look relaxed; the old is gone and the new growth appears. 
I get all excited about a new project and just need another pot, tool or bag of soil.  As I am unloading the car I see my neighbor out in his yard.  He was born in the house and has

lived there for 78years.  He is making a fire, burning away the old growth.  We chat as he sees me hauling dirt, "You still farting around out here?" I tell him that we pulled down a tree house and old apple tree, and now I need more. He misunderstands my feelings and suggests we pull the old creamery building down too. "It's an eyesore." NOoooo! My reaction is quite emotional.  I don't want to lose that old building, just as I didn't want to lose the apple tree I made pies from, or the tree house my sons played in as little boys.  It's not that I have a hard time giving up the past, I just hate it when someone bursts my bubble.  Eventually the old building will fall down, and I will probably never own a winery, or make lots of money. or write a book, or retire on a Greek island. That is the stuff of movies, magazines and Instagram accounts. They are not realistic or healthy dreams, they are just baggage to leave behind.  I can settle with less.