Counting a Blessing – Part One

Prewriting

I’m in the garden this morning, scraping out leaves, turning over soil, and mixing in  compost.  It’s a St. Patrick’s Day ritual…as long as St. Patrick’s Day is on a weekend.  I’m doing it, of course, as a way to get into my writing zone.  I know what I want to write about, but I need to get soil under my nails first. Most people, when they think of St. Patrick’s Day, probably think of leprechauns or shamrocks or beer or parades.  I think of peas.

I don’t think of them because they’re green, I think of them because of Pat.

When I first started teaching, I was blessed with a mentor like no other.  Westport referred to these teachers as buddies, but Pat was way more than a buddy.  I am convinced that she appeared in my life for a purpose. During my first weeks as a teacher, she showed me a few practical things for my classroom, but many deeper things for my life.  She handed me a cylindrical wire cage  with a stick inside.  “Thanks, Pat,” I said, a note of uncertainty in my voice.   Inside, though I hadn’t seen it at first, was a chrysalis, affixed to the broken branch.  I knew nothing about butterflies at the time, but Pat had plenty of patience.  She said that since this was the chrysalis of an Eastern Swallowtail, and since it was fairly late in the season, she suspected that metamorphosis might happen after it had wintered.  It was September now. With this gift, she taught me and my class the value of delayed gratification .

We hung that wire cage from a branch of the crab apple tree that stood just outside my classroom window. That way,  the dormant creature could experience the change of seasons, and we could keep an eye on any progress.  Six months later, around St. Patrick’s Day, we brought the chrysalis inside, and nature rewarded our waiting.  With 22 pairs of eyeballs peeled, we huddled around a table in the back of my room and watched the chrysalis darken, and then gradually become transparent, before a transformed life slowly emerged.  It was a moment that transformed me.  It made teaching seem important, life-changing, and even magical.  To me, it stands as the moment my career began.

Two years later, when Nancy and I bought our first house, Pat was almost as excited as we were.  Way more important than any structural home improvements was the opportunity that a yard provided.  “You can garden, now.”  Pat didn’t have a green thumb, she had at least two, and perhaps green toes  as well.  She was a plant whisperer and, fortunately for us, a plant divider and a plant sharer.  She brought us thyme and rosemary, irises and bleeding hearts, coreopsis and bee balm. And she taught me it was bad luck to say thank you for a plant.  I got around it by saying, “Thank you for your generosity,” or “Thank you for your wisdom.”

It was three years later, when both of us were at a new school, that I told Pat I wanted to try to garden with my class.  She helped me plan which vegetables might flourish and provide some yield before a school year ended in June.  “Here’s the thing,” she said, “when you plant a garden with kids, it always works.  It’s the magic of children.”  Ever the teacher, she added, “You can bring in catalogs and have them figure out the best plants, the timing and the best design.  It’s reading and math and organization…in case the principal asks.”   We chose swiss chard, lettuce, spinach, radishes, carrots, and peas.  “The best thing about peas and spinach is that you can plant very early around here,” Pat noted.   I asked when that would be, and she said, “As soon as you can sink a shovel into the ground.  St. Patrick’s Day is a good way to remember.”

Which reminds me, I have some peas to plant.

 

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