As my children ran toward the gurgling fountains, I paused and allowed my soul to take in the scene. It was an unusually cool June evening and the Old Towne Arvada fountains were surrounded by the weekly Farmer’s Market. Young children shrieked with delight as the surges of water forced them to dance their way through the maze. A young mother lounged on a bench, munching on fresh blueberries and reading a book she probably picked up at the neighboring library (just as we had done moments before).
After plunking down our towels, the boys peeled off their shirts and sprinted into the cool water. I took this moment to meander through the market’s booths. Earlier in the week I had made it a goal to visit a farmer’s market, and was pleased to be soaking in the experience (without any research or effort on my part). I started by surveying a local farmer’s array of fresh vegetables, moved on to sample deep red juicy cherries from the friendly man a few booths down, and finished the semi-circle by smelling the pots of lavender neatly displayed along the long white folding table.
My trip around the fountains was not without its tears over a skinned knee or a mad dash to the bathroom at the library; but oddly these seemed to only enhance my internal exhale. The week had felt like one long stream of summer activities; tennis lessons, vacation bible school, drive-through lunches, play dates, and gatherings with friends. All wonderful summer fun; but just a bit too packed for one who likes to move at a pace that allows for seeing beauty in the ordinary.
If you’ve ever talked with a teacher about summer, the days are often filled to overflowing with expectations and “to do” lists. It is the time of year that is meant to catch-up on every book not read (professional and leisure), every home project left undone, and every neglected friendship. We sign up for every fitness class we’ve missed, plan every family vacation we can afford, and resolve to write every day (ok, that might just be mine). Basically, we try and realize every dream not yet lived during our eight short weeks away from school. It’s no wonder therapists see a spike in their workload during these early months of summer, we teachers need someone to talk us off the ledge and remind us what reality looks like here on planet earth.
Fortunately for me, I did not need to pay a therapist hundreds of dollars to remind me of the beauty of summer; I just needed my friend Jenny. Earlier in the day, she shared her new favorite word with me – margin. Her desire for summer (and probably life in general) was to leave enough margin in her life to be able to enjoy the spontaneous nature of this season. That her family’s life would not be so packed with activities and plans that there would be no room for the impromptu summer barbeque or play date in the park.
Margin. Her word resonated with me. It spoke of intentionality; a deliberate choice to leave space in our days to play with our toys, read books that consume our attention, or to find adventures along our favorite Clear Creek Trail. It conjured up images of freedom; the ability, at the last minute, to gather up my family and spend an evening laughing and drinking a lovely glass of wine with friends. It left me with a contented feeling of joy; a feeling that envelops me on Saturday mornings while I write and my children happily play Legos in their room. This word, margin, was the reminder I needed (even during the leisurely months of summer) to create balance in my life. To plan outings and activities that fills our need for relationship and adventure; but also to leave space to enjoy the simple things of summer.
Before leaving the market that evening, I purchased a half bag of veggies for five dollars from the farmer (quite a steal) and three avocados, two packages of strawberries and four plums from the pleasant man at the fruit stand. The boys had never tried plums before, except maybe in baby food, and were unusually brave in taking a bite of these foreign fruits. Zak was in love with them, so much so that he ate the rest of my collection and begged for me to buy just a few more for the ride home. A deliciously sweet pleasure of summer.
Ahhh, the beauty of margin.
