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Periwinkle Priorities
One day last week, as I sat by the edge of the pool, I struck up a conversation with another swim team mom. She made a comment about how most kids don’t have much unstructured time these days. Though I fully agreed, I felt that we are an exception to that. I mean, I homeschool, you know. GW has plenty leisure time to play at what she likes, to watch clouds, or explore the world around her. Doesn’t she?
Take, for example, the recent day we spent at one of her favorite places.
We took a leisurely stroll through the well manicured English gardens, pausing to admire the paper lanterns that had been hung for an upcoming party.
GW stood on a brick platform and noticed how the construction seemed to magnify her voice, causing a bit of an echo. That brought to mind the myth of unfortunate Echo in love with the vain Narcissus who only had eyes for his own reflection. I shared the tale as we walked under the ivy covered archways and down to the creek.
It was a warm day, so we slipped off our flip-flops and waded in the cool water, laughing at our own distorted reflections. A photographer was there shooting senior pictures of a young woman. She and her subject ventured out into the creek near us, trying to forever capture the girl’s youth.
The girl’s mother watched from the bank while the photographer’s assistant bravely balanced on a log to soften the light with a photographer’s umbrella. Suddenly, his arms began to pinwheel, and down he fell, bottom first into the creek. GW and I gave sympathetic looks while laughing behind our hands.
The soggy man and his party moved on to a drier location, but we stayed on, enjoying ourselves.
Looking down, I noticed that there were hundreds of tiny snail-like creatures clinging to the rocks. When I was a girl I called them periwinkles, though I don’t know if that is their true name. I could look it up, but I’d prefer to allow them this bit of nostalgia.
GW was enchanted. She picked one up and examined it closely. Then another. And another. Each new find was a revelation.
After a few more moments, I began to get bored. I decided it was time to go and made my way to the edge of the creek. I turned back to call my girl but was struck by how absorbed she was in her study. I chose to allow her this time, thinking to myself that it should be short-lived. In another five minutes or so, she would tire of periwinkles and be ready to go home.
And so I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It was difficult to be still, to forget about the things I felt were more important, and yet I waited. Nearly an hour later, GW carefully returned her new friends to their home and joined me on the bank.
As we walked to the car, I considered how I often impose time restrictions on my daughter’s activities.
Yes, you can do that. Be creative. Dream. But do try to wrap it up before lunchtime, please.
Schedules are important. But perhaps they are less important than a creek full of periwinkles and the freedom to experience them on your own terms.
I’m going to try to remember this lesson.
I am sure that my daughter will remember this day.
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Once upon a time there was a Heidi…
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I love that echo-y spot. For some reason Ian couldn’t hear it when we were there. You have to stand just right for it to work. And we loved finding two “treasures” while we were there! I’m sure you’ve already found them by now as well
Lovely! I’m going to try to remember that lesson, too. Thank you for sharing it!