Worms and French Fries: How Many Kinds Can You Name?

My friend brought her almost-four-year old granddaughter, who is curious about seeds and plants, over to see my greenhouse. Since my sons are grown, and I have only imaginary grandchildren at the moment, this was a chance to indulge in one of my joys: sharing what's in a garden with a child. 

We started by looking at sunflower seeds, then tomatoes and peas, how they sprout, and what they look like as they grow. I gave her seeds of her own to plant and take home. Working our way through what's coming up in the greenhouse, we tasted the pea shoots and micro-greens. At one point, as we looked at garlic that was overwintering in a bed, I mentioned that the worms were staying warm in there, too. 

"What's a worm?" my little friend asked. 

We marched over to the compost pile, where it was easy to pitchfork up a pile of wriggling worms of all sizes. Like most kids, she was curious and not afraid of them, asking me to uncover more. Although I could explain the importance of worms in a way that a four-year old would understand, ("They eat dead leaves and plants, and their poop is good for the soil..."), I couldn't answer any of her questions about what kinds of worms we were looking at. "Night crawlers" and "red wigglers" were all the biology I ever learned from the other kids when we tried to fish in the creek and bring our own bait. Her grandma promised to take her to the library for a book about worms. 

Before she left, we made "seed bombs" together that she can throw randomly into bare areas of grandma's, (or her neighbors') yard - because no one's ever too young to start a life of guerrilla gardening.

Her visit reminded me of my own childhood, spent trailing around after my Aunt Helen in her garden, or taking walks down the country road past our house with my mother, learning the names of wildflowers and trees. They passed on to me the ability to move through the world and recognize details of my environment. A green front lawn isn't just grass or weeds: it's often crab grass and dandelions, purslane and plantain. Three of those four things can be put right into your lunch salad. 

My husband and I laugh about the differences in our abilities to discern details around us. Walk through a parking lot, and he can tell you the model and year of every car he passes, while I can only say the color. Walk down the street, and I can name every tree and flower, with or without leaves. He sees a stretch of green or a patch of brown. 

Recent research points to the possibility that humans, as a group, didn't "see" the color blue until they named it. Noting that ancient languages didn't include the word, (except Egyptian, a culture that had blue dye), and based on contemporary research with a tribe that has no word for blue, the conclusion is that what we're able to see is what we're able to name. 

I believe that walking the garden with children is more than a fun way to teach about how nature works. I can develop a classroom lesson about conservation and saving bees, for example, by starting with a french fry. Who doesn't love french fries? They come from potatoes. Potato plants are pollinated by bees. Bees are dying all over the world. Save the bees, save the french fries!

But what if a child can walk to school, drive to the mall, or go on vacation and become aware of connections to, well, everything? 

Here's what she might see: 

• Milk weed on the side of the road nourishes monarch butterflies on their way to Mexico for the winter. Without the milk weed in Canada and the U.S., there are no monarchs in Mexico. Without Mexico, there are no monarch butterflies in the U.S. and Canada.

• All those fir trees along the Atlantic City Expressway and Garden State Parkway in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, or the giant sequoias in California, have more going on underground than above, in a network of roots that work like a circulatory system. Introduce a virus in one area, and it can be passed through the underground system to them all.

• There are tens of thousands of species of mosses. They provide habitat for all kinds of insects, and their condition can be a red flag for water or air pollution.

Naming things in the garden is a powerful way to develop children's ability to differentiate - and, hopefully, appreciate - the interconnectedness of life in the world around them. It's not a text book exercise. As more of the "green" on the planet disappears every day, along with whole species of insects and animals, how children see their responsibility to the world they'll inherit - as global citizens - may depend on how many things we can teach them to name in their back yards today. 

The Three Stages of Right-Sized Retirement

Three months ago, if you and I ran into each other on the street, or, more likely, found ourselves commenting on Facebook about the election or cat videos, you might have wondered how I'm doing. If you'd asked, here's how I would have probably answered: 

"I'm great! I just retired from my full-time position."

Pay close attention to my cautious turn of phrase. I used the word, "retired," but only to describe my relationship with full-time work and/or my previous employer. I left open the possibility that I had something else lined up and ready to go, maybe something part-time, (Consulting pays more..), or in a new field, (Gonna try my hand at astrophysics!). I could never say, "I retired," because that would mean I stopped working. I didn't believe that for a minute.

I have been on my own since I was 17. I put myself through college, worked two jobs at a time in my early '20's, and even when I "stayed home" with my young children, I volunteered in the community, chaired committees, raised money for their schools, and picked up part-time teaching or writing gigs. My hobbies - gardening and sewing - require physical labor and produce measurable outcomes. What do I do? I work. Even for fun.

I started this blog in 2014 after my husband, Bob, retired and jumped into renovating a big, old Victorian house. At that point, I held a management position that allowed me to put in long hours from home, in between business trips. Each day, like a groundhog searching for food, I emerged from my third floor office for only about an hour at dusk, and then usually headed back upstairs for an evening conference call or to get ready for the next day. I considered myself a passenger on Bob's upsized Victorian house renovation ride. I spent a lot of time pondering the backyard from the window behind my desk, and imagining the garden I'd create IF I ever went outside. 

That time came in November 2015. In hindsight, I can trace three distinct stages before settling into how I'm doing now, which I'm calling, "Right-Sized Retirement." Here's what happened during each stage:

Stage 1: "Don't say the word!"

It was others who began to call it retirement. I didn't. When anyone at work said I was retiring, I told myself it made them feel better than thinking, "Kathy doesn't want to play with us anymore." My husband said it, too, all the time, so we had to have a chat about what the word "retirement" means. His definition, "I pay myself to do what I want..." didn't cut it for me. 

Here's why: Every time I heard the word, retirement, I thought of my father. During World War II, he marched from Africa to Italy with the infantry - until a sniper finally stopped his progress. Back home after the war, he spent 35 years walking a route as a US Postal Service mail carrier. At the age of 62, he turned in his retirement papers, sat in his recliner, lit up his pipe, put up his feet, and pretty much stayed there for the next 27 years. 

Sitting was not in my retirement plan. Neither was abandoning the skills it took me 40 years to build. 

This painful phase lasted from the moment I announced I would leave my job until I came up with the term, "Right-Sized Retirement," about an hour ago.

Stage 2: Adrenalin withdrawal

My brother, a director in the medical world who retired at 64, warned me first about this. He explained that work pumps us with adrenalin, so much so that we depend on it more than caffeine to keep us awake, alert and motivated. It's what helps us go to those dreaded afternoon meetings, push through the inevitable resistance to our brilliant ideas, and keeps us from falling asleep at night - so that the next day we need caffeine and adrenalin to start our engines again. 

I remember the first moments at the end of my final official work day. I walked out onto my front porch, blinking in the daylight like a newly released Prisoner of Zenda, foggily thinking, "Why are the birds so loud? When did that rose bush get in my yard? Do we still have a cat?" I thought I'd feel calm relief. Instead, I felt numb and a little panicked. What was I supposed to think about if I didn't think about work?

Here's my Facebook post three days later:

Many thanks to my dear family and friends who checked in on me in the first 72 hours of my new world of semi-retirement, knowing that I have an eeeeeensy-tiny bit of trouble sitting still. Here's what I have been doing so far: Spent Shabbat with friends who cheer for life changes; started learning in an online Open Permaculture course; made lunch dates with several friends and a couple of appointments to talk about volunteer work; looked through the profiles of 300 adoptable dogs; tried to befriend a feral cat who has taken up residence on our front porch chair at the shore; planned a trip to South Dakota with Jeff to visit Kazzie and Greg; researched Thanksgiving recipes that my nephews, Jim and Tom will love, (can't wait till you get here, dearies!); started watching Ash vs. The Evil Dead so I'll have something to talk to my sons about (not recommended for novices at cartoon gore); took my dress for my son's wedding to a tailor; visited my new greenhouse 4 times today to check the angle of the sun; made salad from my garden for Bob as a thank you for building me a greenhouse; went food shopping and made vegetarian chorizo split pea soup for myself tonight. I'm doing quite well, I think!

Every afternoon at exactly 1:00 PM, I needed a nap, no matter how much sleep I got the night before. I loved not having to set my alarm in the morning, but hated waking up past 8:00 AM. Within a month, we adopted a dog from the SPCA, so I would have a reason to get out of bed and walk. Unable to do anything unless it had a purpose, I made a goal for her to be a therapy dog. Bella, Bob and I passed Level 1 doggie obedience within six weeks.

My brother was right. I could viscerally feel the plunge in adrenalin. For the first few weeks, it tasted like exhaustion flavored by a dollop of depression. Putting some structure in place helped. Eventually, with more adjustments to my schedule, like going to the grocery store or into the garden after lunch, it disappeared. 

I'm still going to try to get the therapy dog certification, though. Turns out that Bella is a pretty mellow canine, and the  thought of visiting a hospital or senior citizen center with a dog who loves to be petted makes me happy. And happiness is part of the final stage of right-sized retirement.

Stage 3: Noticing Life 

The first pleasant surprise happened in the car. All those years of driving to work, or to the train station or airport to get somewhere for work, I never saw anything but the inside of my own head. Finally, even the short drive to the grocery store gave me a chance to look around. We had neighbors! There's a township recreation center a mile away! I had lived in this house for over a year, and easily got lost if I wandered off my street. The first gift of retirement was grounding myself geographically. 

The more I looked around, the more I noticed details. The beautiful, tree-lined driveway down the road. The hundred-year old stone wall on the property across from ours. Neighbors walking their dogs, the local high school track team running by, and the rhythm of traffic each day.  

As my adrenalin dropped, and time seemed to stretch out interminably, I found that when I stopped fighting it, and embraced time, it felt delicious. After all, what was it that I told myself when I was working? That someday, when I had the time, I would.....(fill in the blank). So I sat quietly during those low adrenalin moments to notice what was happening around me, from the ticking of the clock in the kitchen to what was going on in my children's lives. (Wow - I have three sons!?! And a daughter-in-law!) Over the next few months, the gift of time became the gift of presence. 

So what is "right-sized retirement" for me? It's settling into the balance of structure and freedom that gives me both energy and peace. And recognizing that they can happen simultaneously or will emerge over time.

For a shot of adrenalin now and then, I am volunteering for several organizations on projects that use the skills I mastered in my professional life. This gives me structure, connection to the outside world, and reminds me how much I like my adrenalin cup one-tenth full, instead of running over. For deep immersion in presence and mindfulness, I created that garden I dreamt about from my third floor window, and started seeds in the greenhouse my supportive husband built for me as a retirement gift.

My friends ask if I will ever go back to paid work. Maybe. Maybe not. A right-sized retirement begins with financial stability. If we needed the money, I wouldn't have left my job without something else lined up. At this moment, right-sized retirement means that having the time to notice life is paying me more than any job ever could.