Have you ever seen anything more beautiful than a field of wildflowers? Have you ever driven along a country highway, struck by nature, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to pull off the road and simply enjoy?
Okay, this does happen a LOT in Wyoming, where the mere glimpse of wildlife can send your brake pedal crashing to the floor (hopefully that’s the only thing crashing), but I find a field of wildflowers can stop me in my tracks. Much safer, too. Moose and buffalo can be so unpredictable.
But here in Florida, there are no enormous animals to consider, so long as you stay out of the water, only flowers distract you from the roadsides, filling the landscape with the breath of spring. Winter has eased its pinch, warm days and cool nights fill out the month of April. I used to think fall was my favorite season, but now, I’m second guessing that notion.
My garden is chock full of new plantings, my backyard is covered in wildflowers (seeds scattered by myself and the kids years ago but now completely self-proliferating). My jasmine is bursting with blossoms. Bees literally follow me from garden to jasmine, jasmine to garden. I have blueberries out there and the bees love them as much as they love jasmine!
Throughout my daily travels, it occurs to me that life is in full swing. The birds and the bees are doing their thing — the birds choosing to “take” from the fruit of my labors (read blueberries) where the bees tend to “give.” But they’re instinctual little beasts and do as they were born to do.
Much like my sweet children. As they grow, it’s becoming more and more apparent I will be walking down the path of most resistance, lurking in their shadows as they struggle through adolescence. Teen boys have it no easier than girls, mind you.
They want to blend in.
They want to be like their friends.
Unlike our conversations of the past, where “standing out from the crowd” and “being your own person” were concepts they embraced, I now see the threads of homogeneous thought weaving silently through their minds.
Sure, it’s okay if that kid’s different, but not me. Not you.
We can’t be different. We can’t be unique. No, no.
“Mom, you’re embarrassing me.”
“Mom, whatever you do, don’t say anything to Coach.”
“Mom, you’re not funny.”
“I’m not?” I glance around my person, as though expecting to find a lifeline tossed my way. “Are you sure?” I plant my hands on my hips. “You used to think it was fun when I honked at you on the playground, or waved at you during class.” I paused, glancing around the yard. “Or danced in our field of wildflowers…”
Groan, grunt, grimace. Arms flail as they reply in unison, “Not anymore.”
Not anymore, I murmur under my breath, then drop my gaze to the ground. Not anymore.
Lifting my head, I look at them more closely. All legs and arms, long and lanky, smart as whips and filled with attitude I realize, No, I imagine not. It’s easy to see you’re growing up (way too fast) and duly falling into line with your peers. I know you can see the beauty in this field as well as I can, but you’re focused on the reds and pinks, the subtle blend of harmony they create when clustered together.
Those little white flowers over there… Where you can appreciate them, you don’t want to be them.
I understand. It’s normal. From the classroom to the playground and everywhere in between, kids are sensitive to the shades of gray. They’re not ready to stand up to that kind of scrutiny.
Yes, I totally understand. But as I immerse myself in the gift of spring, this once a year treat, this glorious field of diverse color, I realize the effect is mostly lost upon our youth. Where I see a gorgeous palette of subtle blends, I also delight in zeroing in on the standouts. They leap out at me.
But I’m an adult. I’ve had years of practice shrugging off the pressure from my peers, the insatiable need to blend in. I’m okay being known as the Crazy Garden Lady. No longer requiring the validation of strangers, the safety of similar, I can dance with abandon.
With time, my kids will get there, too. Once they’ve had the chance to develop their own identity. It’s okay. I get that not everyone wants to be the Crazy Garden Lady (though I can’t imagine why not. Think of the fun they’re missing out on!). But one day they’ll come to terms with themselves and see this field as I do; beautiful in bits and pieces, as well as a whole, weeds, bare spots and all.
Leave a Reply