Written by: Jorinde Berben
Image credit: pexels.com
Last week, I saw an article explaining how the summer we had was the wettest in Belgium since the start of the measurements in 1833. Obviously, this wasn’t really a surprise, since we spent quite a bit of time dodging raindrops over the past few months. What I did find surprising to notice, though, was how coherently the rest of nature responded. It seems as if most of the trees and bushes in our gardens have delayed their harvest for about a month. Normally we’d be picking apples in the beginning of September, but we’ve postponed until the beginning of October for now. The berries all ripened much later and the pumpkins are only just starting to grow.
For some plants, the summer won’t have been warm enough to properly bear fruit. But still, their way of adjusting to something as fickle as the weather, sets a great example.
Life is full of seasons. Sometimes it’s cold, other times the wind blows really fiercely, and then there are those golden, summer days. We each have our favorites (I’m a sucker for bright spring mornings), but we don’t get to be in any one of those seasons permanently. We don’t even get to choose how long the seasons last.
I’ve noticed myself going through different seasons over the past few months. I’ve gone from happy go lucky, to tense, to sad and melancholy. The latter has lasted for a few weeks now (see my previous post) and I can tell that adjusting to the different pace is not as easy for me as it is for the pear tree I’m looking at through my window. I resist the way I feel, and through my resistance I find myself getting more frustrated, more melancholy and more tired. It’s like I want to force those pears to ripen right now. I want to show them off, make pies and juice, and perhaps even a fruit salad. But this season isn’t about the fruit.
All of our seasons have something to show us, something to tell us, a function in our lives. Even if it’s only to make us appreciate the other seasons, there is value in every time we go through. The darkest of times may be what it takes to go in search of the light again, and to find out what that light means to you.
Nature doesn’t bat a lash at a wet summer, or a mild winter. It may seem confused (why are there blossoms in February?) but really it’s just doing it’s thing at the most appropriate time. It’s just making the most of the moment, whether that means resting, growing, blooming or bearing fruit.
Perhpas I should just give that a try.
Unscrewing Myself 