The Glory of the Garden

My Farewell to the Educators of the Winston-Salem/Forsyth County School System

"Die when I may." Abraham Lincoln once said, "I would have it said of me that I always pulled up a weed and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow".

I don't know how many weeds I have pulled up over the last fifteen years, but I know I have not planted as many flowers as the teachers in this county.  You see educators are a lot like gardeners.  You prepare the soil, plant the seeds, pray for the right amount of rain.  You hope that the sunshine hits your garden at just the right moment. You tend your plants with care and rejoice when the first buds erupt into a blossom.

I remain humbled by your efforts.

You see serving on the school board was a decision I made because my daughter had to attend middle school in Winston-Salem rather than in Kernersville. Whitney is now a Meredith graduate, married with our first grandchild.  My son, David graduated from Carolina last December with two degrees.  He was in kindergarten when I first joined this board.  My goal was to help secure neighborhood schools for my community and for every community in this county. What I did not know is that I would be appointed to this board twice and elected three times and stay for over 15 years.  It has been the most rewarding experience of my life.   

But I have never toiled in your garden.   I have never planted a seed.  And though I may have rejoiced with you over the blossoms. Still, the flowers in your garden were not mine.

As a member of this Board of Education, I have been privileged to enjoy your gardens.  I will not miss long meetings nor  board bickering.  I will not miss arguing with Dr. Martin or campaigning for re-election.  I will not miss the feeling in my gut when I consider the tragic death of a student.   But the thing I will miss is going into to your classrooms and watching the future being created by some of the hardest working, most under appreciated heroes of our democracy- our teachers.  There is nothing more uplifting.   There is nothing more encouraging.  Walking in that garden.  Smelling the sweet fragrance of learning.  Seeing the exploding blossoms of knowledge.   I will miss the garden.

So in tribute to all educators and in recognition of all you do. Indulge me as I offer to you  Kipling's "The Glory of the Garden". 

Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.

For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You'll find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dung-pits and the tanks,
The rollers, carts, and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.

And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and 'prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise ;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.

And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows ;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:-" Oh, how beautiful," and sitting in the shade
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.

There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick,
There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick
But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.

Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner In the Glory of the Garden.

Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden that it may not pass away!

And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away ! 

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(On the occasion of my retirement from the WSFC Board of Education)