Our neighbour made hay yesterday. He (along with many other local farmers) followed the advice of the old adage – make hay while the sun shines. I walked outside in the evening, after the heat of the day had diminished. The evening sunlight washed over the newly shorn paddocks like liquid gold. The smell of fresh hay drifted up the hill on the warm breeze. And dotted all over the paddocks was the hay, great round bales that stand as tall as I do, golden with the goodness of summer.
The sight and smell of the hay was the transition to summer for me. It triggered memories of summers gone by, and instantly transferred me to the summer of the here and now. (The heat helped!). I thought of the community events that mark the end of the year – Christmas parties and get – togethers. Carols by candlelight on a town oval or in a country hall. Long drives through shimmering heat to visit family and friends. Brown paddocks, quivering heat haze wafting over the land. Bare feet on warm grass. Hot sand and cool ocean. Eating watermelons and mangoes. Warm nights, buzzing with the sound of crickets.
Life has a pattern, a rhythm, that is marked by the passing of the seasons. It cannot be divided into the precise blocks of time dictated by the calendar. It’s far more subtle than that. Nature holds the clues, for those who are willing to look. It’s the day the first flowers on the Christmas bush turn red. The first cool night after the summer heat. The first autumn leaf. The purple rain of the jacaranda flowers. The moment the first jonquil pokes its head out of the ground after its cool summer sleep. The first frost as winter takes over. These events are anchor points for memories, if those are the hooks we choose to hang them on.
And this time, with the change of the seasons, came the end of an era.
Passing Life Seasons
I gave TD the day off school – just because he loves Santa – and we attended the Playtime Christmas party. For the last time ever. Rosie is off to school next year, and seven years of attending faithfully, week after week, came to an end.
There were times when I’d looked forward to this day, especially after I became a Road Mum, and struggled to keep up with everything I had to do. Even before that, there were days when I just would’ve preferred to stay home. Playtime was noisy, and Mums had to referee squabbles and protect their kids from that one kid who just didn’t get it that you couldn’t rip another kid’s hair out. Constant vigilance required. Cleaning up afterwards was like cleaning up at home on a giant scale – toys everywhere, scraping playdough off the floor, sweeping the vast crumb – covered hall floor with a yard broom. I couldn’t help but think about the mess and work I’d left at home, and how it was still waiting for me, even though I’d already done a morning’s work. Some days, I just didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and being sociable and chatty and making new mums feel welcome was a serious drain on my energy.
It wasn’t all like that, of course. Some days were fun, and I made some good friends there. But on the days when I dragged myself out the door, leaving unfinished jobs or a mess waiting for me when I got home, I did it purely for my kids. Because it was important to them.
So it came as a surprise when I actually felt sad about it being over. Santa came, tall and impressive in his magnificent suit, and it made TD’s week. Despite knowing exactly who this Santa is (a Harley – riding, dreadlocked, nose – ring – wearing Dad from the community!), he was impressed and awed by Santa. He opened the door, then stood saluting as Santa entered. He proudly posed for photos with Santa. He offered Santa one of the biscuits we’d made. He asked Santa for a water pistol for Christmas and gave Santa a high five as he was leaving. And when Santa had gone, he cried. He too recognized the end of an era, the passing of part of his childhood. It will never again be quite the same for him.
And I had to ask myself – did I make hay while the sun shines? Did I make the most of that part of my life? Did I give my kids everything they needed?
Yes. I did. I gave that phase of life all I could spare of me at that time. Yes, I could have done more. But there is a finite amount of me to go around. For my kids, it wove treasured memories into the fabric of their childhood. It enriched their lives and taught them valuable skills – sharing, fair play, interacting with others, and behaving well in public. Yes, I wish I’d recognized it for those things at the time. It would’ve made getting out the door easier. But I’m glad I didn’t give up when it was hard to fit it in. I’m glad I made myself go even when I didn’t feel like it. I’m glad I made some good friends in the community where I live.
Make Hay While The Sun Shines
If you’re in a similar situation, try to stand back and see the possible benefits. Even though it might seem like an impossible chore, try to imagine the positives that could come out of it in the future. Make hay while the sun shines – choose to enjoy it as much as you can. Make the best of it. One day it will be a memory in the fabric of your life. Nothing lasts forever, and once that phase of life is over, there’s no going back. Don’t live with regrets of wasted opportunities or time spent longing to be somewhere else. Be present, and alive in that moment, enjoying it for all it can give you. Who knows how many more of those moments you will have?
As for me, I’m aiming to do the same. To be alive and present in the moment. To make hay while the sun shines.
