Summer Waxing Summer Moon
Jon and Jen moved around the house this morning, packing and stowing, wiping Ruth’s tears–the wrong cap on her bubble bottle–and feeding a smiling Gabe. It was the deliberate preparation of seasoned parents, checking this and that, getting ready. As I watched, I realized this was the true generational transition. The birth of grandchildren seems to represent the moment when the grandparent’s generation gets legs in time. It’s not. It comes when those children integrate into their family. It comes when their parents take responsibility for them in a functioning, dynamic family. It comes when tears are soothed, food comes to the table, when boundaries are set, when imagination is nurtured. It comes when love creates a new family. I saw all this over the last two days.
Jon put together Ruth’s playhouse. We bought it a year and a half ago on sale at Costco. It’s actually a utility shed, but a very cute one with windows and peaked roof. We’re going to put white lights over the whole area and dress up the inside so other grandchildren can use it too. Permaculture focuses not only on the plant life in an area, but on the human use of the land as well. The playhouse adds generational nurturance to the built environment here.
Meanwhile the attacks on our new drip irrigation continue. Vega seems to have taken a particular interest in where the netaphim should be. She is not content with things as they are; rather, she sees things as she would like them to be and acts. She apparently sees the netaphim with multiple holes, disconnected from its sources of water and distributed not where the plants are, but where she sees a better design.
Life has vibrancy here. A good thing.
