My husband and I planted a garden this spring, just as we have every year. But life circumstances and the local wildlife got in the way. The voles attacked from below and ate the pea shoots and sunflowers. The tomato-stealing birds came from above. The deer jumped the fence and munched all the dahlias and beans. Soon after, a buck knocked the whole fence down.

Any other year, I’d have put up a fight. I’d have patched the holes and secured the posts. I’d have placed chicken wire and netting around the crops. But not this time. “Everything has a season,” I declared in my best imitation of The Byrds and the Bible. “This just isn’t our season for gardening.” 

The fact of the matter is we have a new baby at home, so this year’s garden was never destined for success. Time is now measured in wake windows. Toys are strewn about the floor. Our lives revolve around the awesome, exhausting, ecstatic minutiae of helping a human thrive. In the past few months – about the time it takes a pumpkin to ripen on the vine – I have watched my daughter learn to laugh, roll over, sit up, babble, and crawl. 

Nicole Fullin – the indispensable managing editor of this magazine – is once again in the midst of a similar journey. She and her husband, Lance, recently welcomed their second daughter, Chloe, who joins big sister Harper at home. 

As an experienced parent, Nicole doesn’t need my advice. Still, I extend my hearty congratulations to her growing family and offer up these hopefully helpful words: Take a moment to leave work behind. Disconnect from outside distractions as best as you can. Hunker down. Let the garden go to seed. Let the laundry pile up. 

This season is wild and excruciating and spectacular and short. Memorize what it feels like to hold the world in the crook of your arm.