Last year’s kale lived all winter. My fingers couldn’t wrap all the way around the green stem emerging from the rocks of the raised bed. It went to seed this Spring, and by late summer, I saved resilient pods. With only a few weeks to go before this fall’s first frost, I tossed them back into their birth bed, half-hopefully. Maybe as the cold comes I can create a plastic cover for them, a “hot house”, or “cold frame”, or other such name – it’s all the same: capture the Sun, condense the liquid, refeed the seed. Those will be the grandbabies of the momma plant. Does that make me Grandma too?
“I will not deny my child the privilege of failure.”
Shall I remind again of the deadline, or let it slide past? Will building him up fool him into thinking he climbed that on his own, or set him on a path so he’s not overwhelmed when the air gets thin and the slopes so steep? Will allowing him to fall devastate to the point that dusting off and trying again is no longer a perceived option? I fear the weight of failure tethering him forever.
Fear never freed anyone. How in God’s name do you free a child ? Faith, that’s how. I opt for Silence, and wait patiently. Time will tell. The climb is his.