How What You Don’t Know Can Help You
Greet the edges of your understanding with awe, not angst.
Growing up, on the second Sunday in May, you could usually find my family outside, planting flowers for my mom. On Mother’s Day last year, my husband, kids, and I stuffed our in-ground planters with seedlings: basil, mint, strawberries, and tiny tomatoes you can pop in your mouth come August. But when May rolled around this year, with the tulips still tucked under the earth, I wondered whether it would be safe to plant? How would I know?
I polled the parents at pick up. “After the final frost,” they said. But with an April that felt like a February, who knew when that would be?
The internet certainly didn’t. Official-looking sources confidently declared both April 20 and May 21 the last frost date in my part of Minnesota.
Then, with sudden, simultaneous certainty, the trees — whom I hadn’t thought to ask — announced that they knew. With chartreuse tips, they proclaimed: It’s time.
Not so long ago, this kind of thing would have made me itchy. If only I had framed the question more clearly. If only I had found the right sources. I could have prepared better. But honestly? So what?
Not knowing is glorious! How amazing it was that day when I first caught a flash…
