(Part two of a three part series. If you haven’t read part one yet, click here)
Everyone around here talks about the importance of swim lessons. When you live near lake Michigan and you understand a child's proclivity toward water play, you begin to feel the pull toward getting your child equipped with the skill of staying above water. You’re told to not wait too long, or else you continue to risk your child falling into the water and panicking. The problem is, I’m a terrible swimmer, and swimming lessons are a time consuming schedule annoyance that I tried so hard to avoid.
I sat at an old table near the entrance of our local gym, a giant pane of glass and an entire story of air between me and the large pool below. After a few lessons under our belt, I was less attentive and more engrossed in texting my small group, only looking up every several minutes to assess the progress my boys were making in learning how to float. I lifted my eyes from the page and glanced through the glass at the swim instructor with a different student and then traced down the line of children near the wall waiting for their turn until I found my youngest son, Lewis, bobbing up and down in the water silently, feet from the wall. There was my three year old blueberry eyed boy, completely under the water not making a sound, the young teenage lifeguard still on their perch distracted and looking away, the lone teacher out in the middle of the pool completely unaware. It took my brain a few moments to catch up with my eyes, and I immediately lifted my fist and began pounding on the glass.
One one thousand.
Two one thousand.
BANG BANG
Three one thousand.
Four one thousand.
BANG BANG BANG
Five one thousand.
Six one thousand.
Silence. No one was moving. He remained under water. My heart reached my mouth.
“They can’t hear me!”, I screamed to the front desk staff, as I peeled my eyes away from the glass and forced myself to sprint down the hallway. I ran down the stairs whispering desperate pleas to God under my breath, burst into the locker room, and wove through the maze of doors between me and my son. As I reached the pool deck, the lifeguard was lifting him out of the water as he was coughing. A lion burst from the cage of my soul and I screamed things to that 16 year old that may very well haunt him the rest of his life.
Was he under for 10 seconds? 20? 30?. How could they not have seen him? How could this have happened here of all places, where we go to become safe like everyone says we should?
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There are particular instructions for planting each variety of bulb. The general rule of thumb is that you plant a bulb three times as deep as the bulb is tall, and in a hole twice as wide. You are then supposed to “water them in'' a couple times before the hard frosts come, hoping some roots begin to grow and establish before winter puts the world fast to sleep.
It’s best to select sites that have nice, loose soil, plenty of room for the bulb to grow without crowding out other plants beside it, and in groupings so that they make a nice show.
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“You did it!”, I squealed, as I watched my now seven year old swim the full length of our friend's pool and back into his father’s arms. I knew our friends were going to be out of town and the weather was perfect, and we had waited long enough to ensure he could swim. It took years longer for him to learn, maybe because of the trauma, maybe because he simply wanted to take his time and needed to do it his own way. I sat on the edge of the pool beaming with pride, took a deep breath and let out a long sigh of relief.
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If you live in the north, you know how very long winter can feel. Winter starts before there is snow, and continues until after it’s gone. When planting bulbs in the fall, you can’t possibly know what weather the coming winter months will hold. Often, the westside of Michigan is blanketed in a layer of snow on some random November week, only to thaw again and be snowless through Christmas. Sometimes there is a long thaw in February causing buds on trees to swell and the bulb foliage to pop through the ground as if peeking to see if it’s time to wake up. March can sometimes swing the temperatures back down again, halting all new growth and damaging the once cheerful peeking leaves, scaring their future perfection.
When we start to see tulip bulbs poking through the soil here, there is a collective inhale of breath. Life! Things are beginning to live again! To plant bulbs is to practice in hope, daring to believe that what you’ve cultivated will survive and flourish outside of your control.
Loved this line the first time I read it and love it still
To plant bulbs is to practice in hope, daring to believe that what you’ve cultivated will survive and flourish outside of your control. ❤️❤️