Seasons

Most Saturdays in the summer are spent outside. Between maintaining the lawn, the graden, and caring for my ladies, it’s usually a full day. Yesterday was one of those days. 

While Tim finished mowing the front yard and brought the mower around for me to do the back, we've naturally settled into a rhythm where I mow and he does the edging, I spent some time in the garden.

I’m still very much a beginner. Every season teaches me something new. 

Thankfully, I have a friend, Steve, who has shared both his knowledge and his plants. Every so often, I show him pictures of how my garden is progressing and he offers his suggestions on how I can improve. It’s become one of my favorite parts of learning.

This year I’m growing strawberries, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers. And for the first time, okra and cauliflower. 

I’ve been keeping an eye on that little cauliflower plant. She’s only about 4 inches tall. Her leaves are nice and healthy, and there aren't any bugs. But she’s also not getting any bigger and it doesn’t appear that she’s ready to produce any fruit.

When I showed a photo to Steve, he replied rather matter of factly that cauliflower was a cool-weather plant. He was surprised that she’s holding on in this heat but not surprised that she hasn’t grown taller or produced. 

“It’s simply not her season.” 

How interesting. 

Just a few feet away my tomatoes have grown taller than I am and have produced more tomatoes than I can possibly eat. They are thriving in the same bed, with the same soil, the same water, and the same sunshine.

The difference isn’t the conditions.

It’s simply the season.

This realization made me curious. It made me wonder how many times I've questioned myself because I wasn't growing or producing the way I thought I should. How much energy have I spent wondering what I was doing wrong when, perhaps, nothing was wrong at all?

Maybe it wasn't about effort.

Maybe it wasn't about ability.

Maybe it wasn't even about readiness.

Maybe it was simply about the season I was in.

Nature is one of our greatest teachers, if we are willing to pay attention. Some seasons are meant for putting down roots. Some are for resting, healing, or gathering strength beneath the surface. Others are the seasons when growth becomes visible and the harvest finally comes.

Every season has a purpose. Some seasons are when growth is visible. Others are when growth is happening where no one can see it.

I think the confusion may be when we judge ourselves based on someone else’s season. Women are often pitted against one another as a measuring tool. So we may find ourselves in a place of unfair comparisons. Comparing our beginning to someone else’s harvest. Our quiet season to someone else’s celebration. Or, we compare what’s happening beneath the surface to what everyone is showing above it.

And when our lives don’t seem to be producing the same visible results, we assume we’ve failed.

What if we’ve simply misunderstood the garden? What if this isn’t the season for cauliflower, because it’s growing deeper roots? What if it is the season for tomatoes? Bright, cheery, and plump with flavor.

Each season will bring its own request. It may be rest, healing, learning, letting go, or simple to be.

I’ve noticed something else about seasons in the garden. They don’t apologize for changing.

My tomatoes won’t produce forever. The cauliflower, fingers crossed, will eventually have her turn. The garden isn’t failing when one season ends. It’s simply making room for the next one. 

What if we adopted that same model of growth instead of measuring ourselves against unrealistic expectations?

Maybe this is why so many women find themselves restless. They aren’t ungrateful but because the season has changed.

The things that once mattered don’t carry the same weight anymore. The pace that once felt exciting now feels exhausting. The dreams that once fit so well have quietly given way to new longings.

Maybe you long for more peace. More margin. More meaningful conversations. More time with the people you love. Or maybe it’s simply slower mornings that leave room for you to notice your own life instead of rushing through it.

If we were having coffee, the way I always hope these blogs feel, I wouldn’t tell you to ignore your desires. 

I would encourage you to get curious about them. Maybe they’re asking you to do more. Maybe they are revealing what this season is asking of you.

Yesterday, a four inch tall cauliflower plant reminded me that growth isn’t measured by what we can see. Sometimes, the healthiest thing we can do is stop asking, “Why am I not producing like everyone else?” and start asking, "What is this season inviting me to become?"

Because every season has a purpose.

And perhaps the most beautiful thing we can do is trust that ours does too.

Much love,

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