Our seedlings

Todd gets excited for spring planting when the first seed catalogues start arriving in February.  (This is some slick marketing going on, tell you what.  One year he had to replant three times because he started so early, pumped up by all the propaganda in our mailbox.)  By March he’s got seedlings sprouting.

Come April they’re ready for a little sunbath every other day or so. Just half an hour for starters.  To get them used to such bright light.  They’re accustomed to the sheltered light of our house, their cozy spot next to our window under their special heat lamp/light.  I suppose I’m used to having our dining area as a makeshift greenhouse this time of year.  Usually we have rows of identical boxes on a homemade wooden bench, but this year we have a tall metal rack with wheels, akin to what the bakery I used to work in nestled their loaves on.  This big guy stretches out wide and tall to take in all our window light right next to the table we eat all our meals at.  An ideal set-up.  For some.  Apparently for us.

So my job in the afternoons is to wheel the cart out on our deck and let these youngish plants just take in their surroundings.  To soak up some non-diffused sunlight.  To feel the wind in their leaves.  Kind of reminds me of my yoga poses with one leg straight up behind me, arms up high, balancing on my remaining limb, reaching sun-ward.  Forcing me to try to center.  But of course I wobble, it’s hard work keeping things tight and altogether.  And I imagine it’s a similar workout for these young plants, their stems and leaves exposed to the harsh realities of life outside as they, too, reach for the sun.

Which makes me think about our little human seedlings.  More hardy than wispy now, but still in our care, just like our garden growths on our bakery rack.

In fact, this reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend this week about something similar, the attachment theory (I know, random), which basically says when infants form good relationships with their parents, they’re more secure and grounded in their relationships as adults. 

“A theory that describes the dynamics of long-term relationships between humans, starting with the earliest age when an infant needs to develop a relationship with at least one caregiver. It explains significance of the parents' relationship with the child to achieve normal social and emotional development." (Science Dictionary)

It just got me thinking how raising kids and plants are so similar, how God’s pattern shows us how best to do both.  And when they are nurtured in the beginning, given thoughtful care and attention, they both are free to grow into what they were meant to become.  Secure in their roots, confident in their destiny.

Both are coddled in the beginning, tucked in small blankets of dirt or cloth in a tiny singular pot or bed.  Fed small amounts of liquid at consistent intervals.  A secure start to be sure.  In the beginning not much happens.  All they do is sleep, and we’re left to wonder if our freshly-planted seed or newly-born baby will ever open its eyes.  Until one day you barely notice its little green start just peeking above the layer of blackish potting soil.  Your baby staring back at you, one day you see her noticing her hands or turning toward sound, staying awake for longer periods, taking in the world a bit at a time.  Still safe in their cocooned worlds, warm and protected, even as both baby and seed begin to explore in small ways.

But eventually both our seedlings and infants need and long for exposure to the outside world.  In small doses.  A walk with mom, securely bundled up in the stroller or back pack for the first few months.  A blanket for extra comfort.  Later she can sit up a bit on her outings  The blanket drags, catching the wheels, she doesn’t rely on its security as much these days.  Eventually he can walk the path at the zoo holding onto dad’s pointer finger, and before long he feels confident enough to take off on his own.  Carefree, somehow knowing his grownup will be there watching out for him.  Like the plants I pull into the daylight in small doses, allowing them freedom to experience the world’s touch, but never leaving them on their own for long.

In a million different ways we parents teach our kids almost without realizing it, in the same way we "harden" our young plants.  We permit them both to experience light and rain, soft breezes and sudden gusts.  The process is gradual and over time we lengthen or intensify the exposure, bringing them back into our care after a short period of maybe a morning at preschool or a 15 minute sunbath on the back porch.   Nothing overwhelming, just a starting point.  But seeds and kids adjust and eventually they're used to school and being in the fresh air.

Like most of you, we’ve taken our kids camping since they were babies, just letting them feel the outdoors becoming second-nature to them, but pulling them back in the tent and wrapping them up warmly overnight.  Then on to father-son campouts, exposing them a bit more to the cooking and setting up camp, their leaves reaching out, still safe with dad close by, like our seedlings’ afternoon sunbath.  Eventually they’re off on their own to scout camp for a week, independent, out for most of the day.  My favorite is when they take off to the mountains with their friends.  Enjoying the full sun, a little wind, but surely stronger for the exposure.

We might teach them to cook or clean or take care of the yard in the same way.  Letting them hold the measuring spoon as we load it up with baking soda.  Having them scoop dough balls on cookie sheets.  Letting them swish the toilet cleaner with the brush.  Riding the lawn mower, then steering while dad pushes the gas.  Eventually they start mowing for the neighbors, learn to work the mixer and to clean the whole bathroom.  Before long, they’re making the cookies for the bake sale.  We all start teaching our kids in small ways, we figuratively put the plants on the deck when they’re little, helping them acclimate to their future existence.  But we’re close by, keeping an eye on things, ready to swoop in if a strong gust or downpour comes out of nowhere, a flooded toilet, a burn on the wrist, cookie dough too stiff to stir, a lawnmower belt that needs to be replaced.  We wouldn’t leave them alone in this important transitional time.  We let them try the real world for a bit, but we never plant them before their time.  

There comes a day when our little seedings are ready.  When they need to be planted out in the garden, far from the house, away from the tempered conditions of our home.  As we planned from the beginning.

And so just as we prepare the garden boxes each spring, turning the soil, adding compost from the winter, we made sure our college-aged son had what he needed for the upcoming season: bedding, cooking utensils, enough food to start with.  It goes without saying that there’s an adjustment period, regardless of how dedicated we were to the conditioning process.  It’s a bit of a shock to be in new surroundings, to be so far from the sheltered porch and warm home life.  Some plants—and some young adults—flounder.  Some don’t make it at all.  And some parents and gardeners keep their plants and kids within arm’s reach way too long, mistakenly thinking that they are nurturing them better this way.  They fail to realize that what makes them strong is giving them room to grow.  The freedom to become what they were meant to be.  A chance to see what they’re made of.

Of course we check on our plants regularly, just as we touch bases with our son in college. We weed around our freshly planted sprouts, likewise helping our young ones—both at home and away—determine which new ideas they’ve been exposed to are worth keeping and which ones really ought to be plucked. We fertilize and give a little extra help as needed.  We water when they seem to ask for it, but we also rely on the rain from above and wisdom of other adults that seem to come out of nowhere, usually when we feel most desperate for the extra nourishment on our seedlings’ behalf.

We gradually leave them more and more on their own.  Our older kids are pretty self-sufficient by this point and rarely need much more from us than a little water, a good talk, a hug.  They’re like our potato plants, generally strong and healthy with large shade leaves, a conscience.  By the time the leaves and moral compass are this developed, the plant is pretty much on its way.  But now and then there's a stray weed that pops up, even under the cover of the great shade leaves, even with all the teachings and character lessons throughout the years.  It may be an off thought, a misjudgment, a perplexing question, a tough habit or unusual weed with tenacious roots.  But nothing that can’t be handled with the Gardener’s help.  A potato plant knows what it needs to do.  And so do our kids.  

Eventually these plants and kids produce works of their own, potatoes, degrees, food, service… seedlings that have grown up seemingly overnight.  At least now as we look back.  It seemed so slow in the beginning.  We could hardly wait for them to wake up.  And then we could hardly keep them watered and fed sufficiently.  Before we knew it, it was time to plant them in their own garden beds, time to not necessarily say goodbye, but knowing the engagement would lessen, our part would diminish.  The rest would, in large part, be up to them.

We know by now that the onions will be fine.  The rhubarb is an independent sort, hardly needing us at all.  The raspberries flourish without any interference from us either.  But others need us more as they transition from the home life to their own garden plot.  Like the tomatoes who still need to be tethered to a stake while they’re just starting out.  Flowers who need to be deadheaded, kids who still have some habits to shed, we’re here to help them out.  We always kind of wonder about the peppers.  We try to touch bases with them pretty regularly, ascertaining that they're getting enough water, making sure they aren’t overwhelmed by slugs.  For the most part, plants and kids at this age are pretty much on the path to what they’ll become.  There’s not a whole lot we can do to change things at this point.  But we still check up on them.  That’s what gardeners and parents do.