Garden Journal #5
Week 5 of Summer Camp
The morning light was golden and warm, filtering through the tops of the trees as we stepped into the garden once again. Each visit brings something new into focus, a small change, a subtle shift, something ripened or ready. The garden, like the children, grows with quiet determination.
The caterpillars are much larger now. We check on them each day, noticing how quickly they eat and how slowly they pause. It feels like a lesson in patience, in rhythm.
Down by the herb beds, the lemon balm was still holding on, though some had flowered, signaling it was too late to dry for tea. The apple mint, on the other hand, was perfect for gathering. The children snipped carefully and proudly held their bundles.
We noticed one of the fruit trees had begun to drop its plums, not the usual Santa Rosas we have seen lately, but a yellow-fleshed variety, tart and firm. A quiet mystery. They were gathered eagerly, tasted thoughtfully, and shared among friends.
The marigolds are radiant, standing tall and bright like little suns around the garden’s edge. Dahlias have begun to bloom in earnest, their intricate forms inviting a sense of wonder. Nearby, yarrow and wildflowers cluster together, catching the wind and dancing beside the beds. The pomegranate is swelling with promise, and the avocado tree is stretching up with soft, tender growth.
The kale, still vibrant in summer heat, has taken on a new role. One long leaf in particular has become a favorite among the younger children, dubbed the “kale popsicle.” They munch on it joyfully as they explore in the garden.
This week, we also said goodbye to Chip, our beloved angora rabbit. He was part of the rhythm here, always nearby and softly present. We shared a simple story about his life, and those who wished placed flowers on his burial mound. The children were gentle. Reverent. It felt right. After everyone had walked away, one child knelt down and placed her hand on over the mound and said “Thank you Chip for your life”… and then she stood up and went and played.
There’s a rhythm forming here, week by week. The garden offers it freely, and we accept it with open hands.
Until next time friends,
Teacher Todd
