There is a time for everything, including pumpkins

What do we do when the seasons collide: autumn makes the trees blush or the heat of spring punishes the winter snow? When I look at my fall rake leaning next to the winter shovel, I wonder what they would think if they could think: We both have the power to tame the seasons?

Like many people, I enjoy not only the poetic rhythm of the Bible, but of course the wisdom and guidance, especially Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, those lines that remind us, “For everything there is a time.”

“A time to be born.” I was born on August 3, 1951. My mother said she had peach pie batter under her fingernails when I was born.

“A time to die.” Author Arthur Conan Doyle’s last words as he died in the garden and turned to his wife: “You are wonderful.”

“A time to plant.” It is estimated that 4.3 billion tulip bulbs are planted in the Netherlands every year.

“A time to reap what is planted.” One of my favorite childhood memories is pulling the red wagon with my sister pushing it as we brought home a giant orange pumpkin that the local farmer had given us.

“A time to heal.” A few weeks ago, Peter, my brother-in-law, was in a motorcycle accident and broke eight ribs. His recovery will take at least two months, and yet, my sister said, Peter went to play tennis this morning. She wasn’t happy.

“A time to collapse.” There was an apple tree in the backyard of the house where I grew up. In the fall my mother made applesauce. For many years, every spring I climbed the tree and pretended I was riding an elephant on the way to Egypt or the circus among the apple blossoms. When the tree collapsed after a sudden storm, I felt like a part of my childhood was coming to an end.

“A time to kill.” There is never a time to kill.

“A time to win.” Fred Rogers told me one evening as we sat in his living room in Nantucket, Massachusetts, that one of his fondest memories was watching a Special Olympics race in which the participants were children with Down syndrome were. At the start of the race, runners took off with speed and confidence. When a boy stumbled and fell, all the athletes stopped running and ran to help the boy get up. Then the race continued and all humanity won.

“A time to cry.” Our son David was born on February 12, 1980. A month later, on March 12, my brother Oliver died of pneumonia: 32 years old, blind from birth, born without reason, spent his whole life on his back in bed. The whole family fed Oliver, bathed Oliver, and gave him juice when he was thirsty. A bishop came to the house and confirmed him. The day Oliver died, I had my newborn son on my lap and when he looked me in the eyes, I leaned over and just cried.

“A time to laugh.” The day our daughter Karen was born, I said to the mailman, the woman at the bank, the volunteer at the hospital reception, all my brothers, sisters and every friend I could think of: ” We have a daughter!” And I laughed and laughed with the joy of angels, children and old men. “I have a daughter!”

Last year I planted a row of begonias in front of the house. They thrived in July and exploded into colorful clouds in August. When fall came, the flowers were still in bloom, but I wanted to put up my Halloween pumpkins.

I saw a house a few years ago that had large plastic pumpkins with the famous Halloween pumpkin smile in the yard. They looked real; They looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. And they glowed in the dark! I bought five.

When I put the pumpkins down I realized the begonias were in the way. I couldn’t place the pumpkins in front of the flowers. That would look stupid. If I had placed the pumpkins behind the flowers, no one would have been able to see the glowing smile in the dark.

Seasons collide. The summer flowers were in the way of the fall pumpkins, so I ripped out the begonias to make room for the pumpkins and tossed the plants in the garden recycling bin.

As I put the pumpkins in that evening and looked at the coming season, I was thrilled with how they looked, but as I lay in bed in the dark, I thought about the flowers shrinking in the trash. What old man feels sorry for dying flowers?

There is a season for everything.

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