On a bright September morning just a few weeks back, my son and I walked to school. It was a day like any other, warm and green and full but sorrowful in its way, teeming with the siren call of change and summer’s end. As we passed through the gates to the sundial and rounded the familiar, bricked corners, I marveled at how many times I had walked this path—hundreds, thousands—and thought wistfully of the numbered days I might come this way again. As Robert Frost wrote—Nothing gold can stay.
My oldest child, a teenager now, had first ambled these grounds a dozen years ago as a kindergartener. I pondered the days of pushing strollers through snow and ice and wood chips and finally, through damp patches of earth and melting snow. I had held his hand and later, his sister’s and brother’s, through twelve years of the 9:00 bell and the mad scamper of growing feet (first to get in and then to get out), through sweltering days and frozen mornings and watching the shadows grow long.
On this morning, my youngest took my hand only briefly (in an obligatory way, as children who are growing up do) before running to join his classmates on the playground. I did not hurry, but watched him race to the monkey bars, glad for his company and sense of purpose. He would be alright.
As I set towards home, considering the last warm rays of summer sun, I felt a gentle tug on my sleeve. I turned to see a small boy contemplating something in his hand. He was perhaps six or seven, with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His shoes were perfectly tied in double knots; his shirt was inside and out backwards, and the back of his hair gave evidence of recent sleep. Without looking up, he gently took my hand and walked beside me through the schoolyard.
“Want to see something?” He clutched his small treasure, and soon spread his fingers to reveal a perfect red strawberry.
He led me to the berry patch and gently parted the leaves to reveal a wellspring of white and crimson berries and innumerable milky flowers. They weren’t ready yet, he told me. But he was going to wash this one, and maybe eat it later. Then he skipped away merrily, carefully tearing leaves from the berry’s stem, our friendship forgotten.
Unexpectedly, my eyes brimmed with tears, a joy and sorrow I would carry with me all that day. I thought of the children who had planted those berries in the spring, and the families who had watered them in the summer. I remembered the teachers who had wished and planned for these very fruits and had guided them into the harvest. And I thought of the simple joy of finding one perfect, beautiful berry.
We have been fortunate indeed here at Bacon, and we have blessings and bounty to share. We take care of each other and our community. Bacon knows how to grow berries, to nurture its tender young, to share the blessings of a bountiful harvest. I am so proud to be a part of our community’s beloved tradition of compassion, generosity, and philanthropy. This month, we will share our blessings with the families in our community. It’s time to give thanks and share the harvest.
From all of us here at the Bacon PTO, we wish you happy turkey-searching, lovely feasting, safe travels, and a thousand simple joys with the people you love.
Andrea Flake, Bacon PTO
This month, the Bacon PTO is proud to bring you:
Bacon Dinner Night Out at Chipotle: Tuesday, 11/13 from 4-8
The Great Turkey Roundup: Wednesday, November 14 at 9:00 a.m.
November PTO Meeting: Friday, November 16 at 9:10 a.m.
The Annual Very Merry Holiday Shoppe: December 4 & 5, 8-9, 11-1, and 3:45-4:30
Board Meetings are held the second Thursday of each month at 9:05am in the Teacher's Lounge. You are welcome to attend these meetings as well.
President – Andrea Flake email@example.com
Vice president – Nicki Shamis
Secretary – Janelle Mainz
Treasurer – Lorie Barker
Volunteer Coordinator – Liz Fritz