The zinnias are gone. Last week’s cold nights literally turned their brilliant pink hearts to solid, dried up brown in a matter of hours. Nature can be so ruthless. I know it’s the life cycle, and an end of one thing is the beginning of another. But there are times when I wonder if what’s . . . Read More
I always have a soft spot in my heart for the zinnias this time of year. Most of the other summer flowers are long gone by now, but it’s nearly December, and the zinnias are still blooming. Being a summer girl, I’ve grown to appreciate their willingness to hang around when the days and . . . Read More
I’ve never known nine-year old hands to reach out with such tenderness. Last week when I enlisted the assistance of our third and fourth grade students to help me find new homes for surplus sunflower sprouts, several sets of hands came forth in surprising, tender ways. First we dug receiving holes in the soil, in . . . Read More
Along the 40th Street wall there is a small forest of Shoestring Acacias that has altered the course of Seed history. Or at least the lives of a few children who have come and gone from the Seed, as well as my own. The trees, described in a recent newspaper article as “low debris” trees, . . . Read More
My husband of thirty-four years turned 65 today. For more than half of my life I’ve had the privilege of living alongside this man who is a continual expression of kindness, humility, and compassion. In addition to being my husband, he is my best friend and teacher. One of his greatest teachings has been how . . . Read More
As kids growing up in a rural Nebraska town, Halloween was a highlight of the year. Once we were old enough to go trick or treating, our parents let us loose to spend hours going from house to house on a mission for “the goods.” Word spread quickly which houses gave out popcorn balls and . . . Read More
It was the kind of weekend that deserved a rain blessing, and on Sunday morning we received it. Across the bay from San Francisco, in a waterfront building originally designed for auto manufacturing, 3,000 of us assembled for a different sort of blessing, a rare weekend of teachings with a beloved teacher. I don’t remember . . . Read More
During my kids’ yoga class last week, I mentioned a pose I learned from one of my teachers. One of the children commented, “You have a teacher? I thought once you are a teacher you just teach yourself.” I responded, “No, that’s not the way it works.” Ever since then I’ve been thinking about how . . . Read More
Before I was a gardener, I didn’t know seeds would be my teachers. As each year of seasons passes, my gratitude for their lessons deepens. Just a few weeks ago, I trimmed the heavy sunflower heads from their stalks and placed them on the rocky edge of a garden bed as an offering to the . . . Read More
Thirty-three years ago, in 1977, I was a stay-at-home mom with a spunky three-year-old and a sweet six-month-old baby. All I really wanted to do was raise the girls, pursue my love of art, and create a healthy, happy home in which my family could live and grow. Starting a school was the furthest thing . . . Read More
It was well past dark when they sprayed the mud off their arms and legs to come in for the night. For several hours the mud drew them away from movies, text messaging, and indoor entertainment to a spot in the garden that offered equal opportunity for a three-year-old as well as her cousin, now . . . Read More
A few weeks ago, toward the end of the monsoon season, I took a few minutes to go outside in my garden before stepping into the busy day ahead of me. It was a beautiful morning and everything dripped with the memory of the previous night’s storm. One of the huge sunflowers I’d planted in . . . Read More
For about a year now I’ve felt inclined to start a blog. I love writing and after over 30 years of teaching and running a school, I’ve discovered I have a few things to say. One of my writing teachers, the late Donald Murray, used to write a weekly column for The Boston Globe. A . . . Read More