There Goes the Motherhood

By Elizabeth Sage, CG

I believe it was the great poet Taylor Swift who wrote:

“But I can see us lost in the memory, August slipped away into a moment in time, 'Cause it was never mine.”

In my quiet suburban neighborhood, there is a single maple tree that always leads the way into autumn. She is the first to shift in early August, to blush with color, to let her leaves begin their slow descent in response to the light. She serves as a gauge for our whole neighborhood, a reminder that change comes whether we are ready or not.

It is bittersweet each year to watch her turn. But I have come to see it not as an ending, but as a retreat. A signal that even as life withdraws, it is storing up energy to reemerge in spring, fresher, stronger, renewed. In that way, she is like each of us as parents. What parent has not needed that moment to retreat, recoup, and reconnect?

All summer, I tended my front garden, a daily ritual of watering, weeding, and checking leaves for signs of trouble. My friend Craig Johnson of Alpenglow Farms in Southern Humboldt once told me the most beneficial thing you can put on your plants each day is your shadow. The more time you spend observing them and trying to understand their individual qualities, the better you become at helping them thrive. I took that to heart, not only with my plants, but also in raising children.

Parenting, like farming, is a practice of presence. We map out our grow plans, provide the best food and water we can, and hover when illness threatens to spread. We keep a sleepless vigil, wondering if our harvest will make it. And just as plants grow more complex with size, so do our children. The challenges shift, the stakes feel higher, and we wonder if we have tended them well enough.

But there is joy too, the kind that carries us through —the moment a garden yields more than we ever expected. The pride when a varietal bred with care becomes medicine that helps someone heal. The quiet thrill of watching blossoms open, cheering each new bud along.

Our children often give us those same moments. Unexpected gifts, breakthroughs that feel like medicine for our souls, beauty erupting before our very eyes in physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual ways. As farmers of both plants and people, we are blessed to cast our shadows, to be present, and to witness the incredible impact of our tending.

And like that tree at the end of the block, we are reminded that every season has its purpose. Before the retreat comes abundance. Before renewal, there is shedding. But through it all, we can trust that growth comes back in its season.