When Life Was Bananas!
I'm pretty sure it was around 2005 when I wrote The Garden Lesson. I can't pin down the exact year, but I know what my life looked like then, and it was "omg, holy bananas." <---I feel another song lyric coming on!
I was deep in the thick of it.
I have four kids; my youngest was about five at that time, arriving as "God's gift," we call him, when I was in my 40th year.
My life wasn't just full, it was loud, fast, and relentless.
Every day felt like a sprint from morning until I collapsed into bed at night, already thinking about everything waiting for me the next day.
That season of life was stressful. There's no softer word for it.
I was juggling a big family, constant responsibilities, and the quiet pressure of finances that never quite stretched far enough. That's when I decided to include the common phrase "more month than money" in this piece. It wasn't poetic; it was literal. Very real.
I felt like I was always calculating, always trying to make things work, always telling myself to stay upbeat for my kids, even when my own nerves were frayed. I wanted to be steady. I tried to master my disposition, even when inside I felt pulled in a hundred directions.
The line "there are children to nurture, family to call, with my disposition mastered and sunny" is so real!
I remember feeling I had to put on a "good face" so my parents, my in-laws, and my friends wouldn't worry about me. So when I read that line today, I'm like, "yeah, that was so true back then." My parents worried anyway, but I just didn't want to add to it.
Carrying the World in My Heart, It's Just Who I Am
I've always been someone who carries the bigger picture in my heart, sometimes to my own emotional detriment. I still struggle with this. I've written some poignant pieces about suffering children and have yet to put them to music, because they're that real, and bordering on blunt.
Children, especially, undo me. Children everywhere. Children who fall asleep without comfort, without security, without enough food or love. Even now, as I type this, I want to cry. I just can't with suffering children, I just can't! I want to hold all of them and tell them it will be ok, I've got you. I wish I could, I truly wish I could hold them all.
But here's a belief that gives me some emotional peace through all the suffering: those who suffer the most teach us the most. They are the teachers.
Back then, I had to regularly talk myself down from it, because the weight of knowing how much suffering exists can flatten you if you let it. And yet, it never left my mind, even when my own life felt like it was barely holding together.
That's where the song became more than a list of chores or responsibilities. It turned into a to-do list of the soul.
Yes, I was managing laundry, meals, schedules, and small moments of creativity squeezed in where I could, but I was also carrying worry, empathy, and a constant sense of wishing I could do more.
Humanity can be exhausting; however, I do believe that most people are good people. I even have lyrics for that sentiment, written long ago.
Since the 1980s, helping children has been my way of answering that ache without letting it consume me.
I'm learning, even at this age, that it's never about fixing everything; it's about doing what we can—one small act at a time.
Sometimes that's all we can do, and sometimes it's enough to survive our own helplessness. My choice to help has continued to be Canadian Feed The Children, now known as Kinvia.ca.
The Garden Is Our Teacher - It Was The Ultimate Metaphor as Well For These Lyrics
What The Garden Lesson really reflects is that tension. The struggle of wanting to help the world while also needing to keep your own household afloat.
The challenge of caring deeply while still paying bills, raising children, and trying not to lose yourself in the process. I worried about everyone and everything, including my own family's future, and I carried it all as if it were my responsibility to fix, or at least acknowledge.
I know better today. At 65 years old, when I'm typing this, I understand to my core that we can't fix people, and we certainly can't "fix" everything. We can make a difference by being a good example - that's what I believe.
In the end, the song gently reminds me to settle down. To breathe. To remember that I am not my to-do list, not the worries I carry, not even the good intentions that sometimes exhaust me.
What grounds me are the small, real things. A flower growing where you didn't expect it. A smile exchanged without effort. A moment of connection. The quiet love we plant every day without realizing it. That, more than anything I ever checked off a list, is what defines who we are.
I hope you can feel the intended emotions in these lyrics. <3
I even made a little product for part of these lyrics, many, many years ago - the picture is our front yard.
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50 Years of My Poems and Lyrics are on Amazon, Where Available.
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