Sierra V. Fedorko

Pictured below is one of the most magical moments I’ve experienced as a mother. It was a Saturday morning in late 2023. The toys were strewn and the sunlight pierced our garden so gently. My son was swinging in the “big kid” swing just past the Little Tikes baby swing. As a baby and into toddlerhood, he loved that Little Tikes swing.

And I’ve loved to see him sitting there with his bright mud boots going back and forth with that contented smile and all his force of energy happy to sway at peace in its rhythm. I’ve watched that little swing rock in the breeze from my kitchen window and been overwhelmed by the miracle of it. I’ve taken pictures of a butterfly resting on its arm.

It’s just a swing.

But it’s also a tangible picture of so much more–of gifts and blessings and moments etched into the soul. It’s one of my favorite views. But on this day the air was alive with fairy dust, the kind that happens when the sunlight falls just so, and that little boy in his signature bright yellow boots was swinging so happily and contentedly again. But this time on the “big kid” one.

To see your kid grow up is a brilliant, show-stopping thing done in ordinary hours happening on days like Tuesday afternoon and Saturday morning before 10 am.

One day they wake up from a nap and they just look older. Time flies. And I’ve learned to fly with it. But every now and then the magic is slow motion. This photo in clarity and composition will never appeal to the masses. I will never ask it to. That photo already does exactly what it’s meant to do….

I’m taken right back to those slow-motion moments on that Saturday morning. I can remember its magic, how the sunlight enveloped my front-row view, the “fairy dust”, how the plastic garden chair felt beneath me, and how lovely it was to see my son so contented after finally finding his footing on a “big kid” swing.

I’m rambling a bit, but I’ve learned I’m not writing for the masses. I’m writing because I want to savor and remember this God-given life I’m living. I’m writing for my kids who will one day want this history. I’m writing for those few who stumble here and need the words about slow-motion moments and Saturday magic. And I’m writing for those people (however few or many) in the generations to come which will find their lives in these words.

Time is like that, see. It flies. But it’s so very much the same.

Isn’t that something?

Regardless, I wrote the following poem about home. About the Front Yard. About our little corner of the sky and the tangled up hose and the earth blooming right at our feet. How it’s all a wonder.

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Give me summer earth
soaked by
the garden hose tangled
and piled
in my Front Yard.

Give me garden stones
by scraggly September
roses
and my children pointing out
the moon
in our little corner
of The Sky.

Show me autumn
in the acorns
gathering
on the floor
beneath
the Little Tikes
swing.

Let me savor winter
sun
pouring through
the messy
Living Room.

Play me birdsong in the spring
and take me back to my
childhood
with the playful
lyrics
of the Mourning Dove.

Let me travel this over and
over,
for if I traveled the world
just once
I know I’d love the sights
but none so much as these.

And Vencie, and Paris,
and all the rest
is home
to someone else,
but I’ll never see these
quite like them
or them
see
all this
quite like me.

Suppose that’s the eighth
wonder
of the world?

Such beauty at our
fingertips
simply opening
the door
to our Home,
unlatching
the Garden Gate,
picking up
our tangled hose
again,
soaking the earth
blooming
at our feet.

-S.V.F., Travel Me Home

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Do you have a tangled hose in your front yard? What’s the earth look like at your feet? When’s the last time you took a picture with words or film or sketching pencil to just remember how a Saturday morning moved in this season of life. Of course, they aren’t all grand. Of course, slow-motion moments and the nostalgic sunlight won’t always fill your view or warm your heart, but often the moments are there and often the sunlight is warm, and too often we miss it.

If only we lifted our eyes.

If only we were not too busy to feel the sun on our skin, or to welcome a Tuesday in all its ordinary splendor.

Well.

There are some if only’s we can control.

So what if you did? What if you did lift your eyes and feel the sun and welcome a “boring” Tuesday?

You might just find the eighth wonder of the world right there at your fingertips.

In fact, you will.