No matter how many years pass between my school days and a new September, come Labour Day I feel a sudden clutch at my stomach and a pressing need to sharpen pencils. Now, as a mother, I also feel a pinch at my heart as the slow days of summer-flushed cheeks come to an end with the urgency of a morning alarm clock. This year, instead of spending Labour Day cleaning June’s snacks out of the backpack, we went to an “Out With A Bang” picnic at Jericho beach.
As rays of sun lit the trees like candles our kids lounged on blankets, poised between summer and September. I watched them as they eyed the adults who were discussing the imminent realities of family life stressed by schedules, homework and a probable teacher’s strike.
Savouring the last drops of summertime on a blanket spread over dry grass I let go of the back-to-school anticipation and chose instead to focus on the golden slanting light, the mellow ocean-kissed air. Instead of regret for summer’s passing, I felt full of gratitude for the moment and the beauty of the place we call home.
We forget sometimes how much of what our children see, the things we model and the places, events and states of mind to which we choose to expose them shape the perspective and the emotional temperature of our kid’s lives.
That night I was reminded of why my husband and I chose this city as a place to create a future: spread out on the banks at Jericho were multiple generations and ethnicities on picnic blankets, hipsters playing Frisbee in between unfazed Canada geese, games of boules and bacci and volleyball on the beach, barbeques and Mountain Equipment Co-Op gear scattered under generous willows, several benign bottle-collecting hobos, the ocean bordering one side and habitat for creatures like beavers, bats and bees along the other edge while the mountains turned slowly purple in the distance.
In our little encampment of baskets and blankets, there were lolling dogs, bicycles in the grass and families making divorce and remarriage come together. There were random acts of kindness, – as I pulled into the parking lot, a shirtless guy in a pickup leaned out his window fluttering a paid parking ticket and the young guys nearby offered up a bike to help someone who thought they had lost a bag - there was an abundance of local food to share and a gray rabbit that kept darting by to remind us of the creatures with whom we live even when we forget to look.
Moving across the Rockies meant my husband and I made a life far from family and many dear friends, and sometimes I regret the distance I put between all that and us, but on this Labour Day, perched on the edge of transition we were handed bread, kindness, laughter, and community. As we drove home, the sky was smeared magenta, “sailors delight”, and I thought that even as seasons change and challenges loom, this generous place has imparted a profound sense of security. Sharpening the pencils has never felt so easy.
Image Credit: keepitsurreal via Flickr
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