A garden of children;
a classroom of flowers.
Kinder
garten.
A teacher is a gardener.
We dig, we sweat, we get our hands dirty.
We make plans, and we adjust them.
And then we adjust them again.
We space out students and arrange the desks with care.
These two flowers should be separated;
This fruit needs much more sun than the others.
Karla benefits from frequent breaks;
Sam’s a helpful role model for Alex.
Sometimes, we get transplants;
New students change the dynamic mid-year.
We depend on so much sunshine and rain;
we can no more control the weather
than whether
our students get enough sleep, full bellies, medical care.
Families are the soil, which we support the best we can.
Sometimes our tools are second-hand or rusty.
But the crack of a new notebook,
The buzz of the pencil sharpener,
The clean white slate each day
Reminds us to keep gardening.
Our university extension experts who consult at the farmers’ markets,
Our television garden celebs,
Our neighbors across the fence,
Are colleagues, teammates, administrators.
Counselors, nurses, cafeteria managers, bus drivers.
Our gardens cross-pollinate, if we’re lucky.
As the seasons change, our students grow and put down roots.
Their personalities develop:
A shocking orange lily, a subtle scent of gentle rose.
We tend them with loving care,
But they do not belong to us.
In the end, we close the gate behind us
And leave the garden to its growing.