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Fall pruning and a child’s determination
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By Dr. Heather Bozant Witcher
Clarion Herald
Fall is in the air. Those early-morning breezes were followed by rain and subsequently cooler temperatures. Perfect for kids playing outside – and for the adults to turn attention to fall pruning.
For weeks, our eldest son had been asking about decorating for fall. Halloween is his favorite holiday, and I caught him outside murmuring to himself about where to put the skeletons and ghosts and spiders. As a compromise (because September is much too early to decorate for Halloween), we decided to get out the pumpkins, woodland creatures, leaves and scarecrows to celebrate autumn.
But first, we had to address the out-of-control growth of the camellia and azalea bushes in the front yard. The camellia had gotten out of hand and was now towering over the roof. As my husband and I decided on a reasonable height adjustment and researched how to cut back years-worth of growth without killing the shrub, the boys collected sticks and leaves and began making a pile.
Once they realized that larger branches with glossy green leaves were forthcoming, however, they stopped and watched in amazement as the camellia began to come down.
They’re accustomed to taking large branches from the yard and piling them at the front of the house, near the curb, where our community’s yard pickup collects the waste. So, it became another game: Who could grab the biggest, longest, heaviest branch and haul it to the curb?
The twins picked up their speed, trying to outpace the other. My youngest, however, was not to be outdone.
“I’m strong!” he screeched, as he waited for his dad to drop down another branch. My husband let fall a Syd-sized branch.
“NO!” came the loudest yell from the smallest of the three. “I have big muscles!”
He was determined to do just as his older brothers were doing. A larger branch fell at his feet, much to Syd’s delight.
His small hands grabbed the limb and hoisted it proudly over his head, and he wobble-walked to the curb. “I’m strong,” he proclaimed loudly as he passed by me.
And then, the limb collapsed to the ground next to him. He had made it maybe 20 steps, hoisting the much-too-big object above his head. “It’s heavy.”
I suggested dragging it the rest of the way. “Use those muscles to pull,” I told him.
His eyes lit up and he hauled it around himself in a circle and brought it all the way to the curb.
“I did it!” he proclaimed, before announcing that he wanted a snack. For Syd, yardwork was over.
His workout was on par with the heavy work he does weekly at physical therapy to strengthen his core and left side. As he kept up with his brothers, not wanting to be left out, my heart burst watching his older brothers cheer him on and give him hugs after he was finished.
In these moments, I realize that children always see the “able,” not the label.
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