When I checked on our community garden early one morning this week, it was eerily quiet, and there was a feeling in the air that the garden season would be coming to a close soon. Tonight when we arrived at the garden, we saw more activity than we had in weeks. Our fellow gardeners were covering their remaining plants and picking what would ripen in cold rooms. While the forecast didn't say there was a chance of frost, we could sense the temperature was cooler at the community garden than at our home, less than a kilometer away, and that those experienced ones likely knew what I had sensed earlier - it wouldn't be long now until another gardening year, and summer, would be over.
As I reflect on tonight, it struck me that all of today had a melancholy feeling to it. Best laid plans that didn't quite work out. A trip to the Science Centre, only to find out the Centre was closed for maintenance - an unknown to us, even after checking the website for its hours. Children who struggled through their exercises this afternoon. A little one who wouldn't nap and is in the depths of a boycott against vegetables and meat. Our own scurrying around to try and prolong the garden just a bit longer.
Like all cloudy skies though, sun does make it's way through every now and again, and I'm reminded that life is much sweeter when looking for those moments, however fleeting they are. Like seeing Nicholas tear down the street on his Rollerblades when just minutes before he looked teetery and walked more than skated. He and I learning about chickens and having a good laugh at the end of our quiet time work. Enjoying the lush greenness of the jalapenos we picked tonight. Enjoying the smell of the tomato leaves as we covered the plants up. No matter what happened today or what happens tonight, tomorrow will come. We'll have a whole new set of experiences that I know won't be limited by today.