A Commencement Address for June
By Molly Flinkman | June 2024 Newsletter
It is my great delight and an honor to be with you today, on this incredibly momentous and long-awaited occasion: The First Day of June.
We made it through May, everyone. We made it through May.
*holds for applause*
This past month, we sat on sidelines and ate dinner in the car in between baseball practice and gymnastics. We coordinated play dates and end-of-the-year party plans and that one Saturday when all our kids had soccer games at the exact same time. We walked hallways and joined field trips and attended graduations. We bought the perfect shade of shimmery toast tights for the dance recital and planted hydrangeas when the risk of frost was finally past. We got our kids to field day. To the dentist. To kindergarten round-up. We even ensured they participated in 26 straight alphabet-themed days to end the school year. For some of us, May might have felt no different than January or September or the heat of July, and there’s hard work in that too. The point is, May is often just, well, a lot.
And then, suddenly, it’s over. And there’s June, beckoning us forward, surrounded by her many hues of green and a faint smell of chlorine in the distance.
This time of year always feels a bit like an in-between for me, and that’s what I want to talk to you about today: what we will do with this moment in time—this moment after the rhythms of school have ended and before summer really starts rolling. I have some thoughts, but I try not to make a habit out of giving unsolicited advice. So, what I’d rather do is tell you a story about my garden.
One of my four kids is always up for gardening. She doesn’t care what the work is. She’s happy to pull on a pair of gloves and put her hands in the dirt. A few weeks ago, she helped me transplant a few hostas, weed around the rose bushes, and plant a row of English daisies and cosmoses right into the ground—a new experiment, I told her. We worked in tandem on those seeds. I pressed small holes into the soil, and she followed behind with the seeds. Then I came back around and covered them all up. At some point, she asked if we would have to plant them again next year, and I told her we would.
“If we like them,” I added.
She thought about this for a moment and said, “The nice thing about gardening is that if it doesn’t work one year, you can just do something totally different the next year.”
And just like that, she innately figured out one of the things I love most about my garden.
Last year, I sowed zinnia seeds for the first time ever—inspired by a bouquet of garden-cut flowers my friend gave me the summer before. A new experiment, I told myself. My first blossom opened in June, and then those plants didn’t stop blooming until October. For four months, I was delighted by vibrant shades of pink, orange, and white.
So, the first thing I did this year was make plans for more zinnias. I even planted some along the bike path next to our house, so passersby can enjoy them too. What I didn’t do was replicate the vincas that lined my back garden beds last year. I didn’t like those. They grew too tall and crowded the zinnias. I also scrapped most of my vegetable garden and opted for more wildflowers instead. My outdoor process involves a good amount of trial-and-error, and what I don’t enjoy, I don’t bother to plant again.
The garden isn’t a place for perfection, if you ask me. It’s a place to try new things and dream and slow down. It’s an exercise in patience and unhurried work. It’s an opportunity to ask myself, What will I keep? What will I leave behind? What new things will I grow?
So on this, The First Day of June, we must first take a moment to celebrate how far we have come and acknowledge all we have accomplished. And we would, of course, be remiss if we didn’t thank those in our lives who ensured we didn’t have to make it through May alone—the dads, the grandparents, the aunts, the uncles, the coaches, the teachers *holds for applause*, and the person who figured out how to sync our sports apps to our Google calendars.
But then, let’s let May be May. Let’s take this moment to look ahead.
How will you walk into the new season? What will you keep? What will you leave behind? What new things will you grow?
I’m keeping the zinnias and noting what can be taken off my plate next May because if I’ve learned anything about the seasons, it’s that we can hold all of our expectations and obligations loosely. We can change. What doesn’t work doesn’t have to stay. As for the new, I also planted a dahlia right in front of our house. I have no clue exactly how to care for it yet, but I couldn’t resist the pink blossoms when I passed it at the store the other day—another new experiment.
My garden might go to seed, just like my plans for chore charts and basic entryway shoe organization rarely work out. But that’s okay. There’s still joy in the dreaming and the flailing and the parts where my hands get messy.
I can’t tell you what to do with your June. (I don’t give unsolicited advice, remember?) Only you know where you’ve come from and what lies ahead. Is there room to let go? To try something new? To ignore the possibility that whatever you’re planning might not go exactly as you want?
What do you have to lose? I mean, if it doesn’t work out, you can always just try something totally different next year.
You’ll be in good company, I promise.
C+C Podcast
In Launching Our Kids, Katie chats with C+C’s mentor mom Krista Gilbert and C+C writer Sonya Spillmann, both of whom hate to admit the adage is true: the days are long but the years are short. You’ll hear how these seasoned moms are leaning into the highs and lows of a long season of lasts, how they’re marking this special time with tailored celebrations, and how they’re caring for themselves along the way. We hope this episode encourages you to embrace whatever transitional season of motherhood you’re in.
C+C Faves
“I’m such a small part of a story that is so big. So redemptive. So utterly undeserved. At times confusing, but I think that’s just because I need to keep reading, because I do already know the ending and it’s really, really good. ” // Roll the Credits by
Hello, summer! Bring on the shorts, shackets, sun hats, and summer dresses.
Traveling with an infant? This travel backpack is sized as a personal item but we can vouch that it holds more than a week’s worth of baby clothes (plus a handful of diapers!)
“The world still burns and brims with hurt, but I refuse to parent from a place of hopelessness. Instead, I want to make joy a centerpiece in our family, filling our home with laughter, warmth, and togetherness. As I navigate my child through these uncertain times, taking shaky step after shaky step, I point out a burst of joy whenever I notice it." // This Is a Little Spark by
Learn how to make your stories come alive with figurative language in this 2.5 hour workshop with Ashlee and Katie on June 8.
Let the writing sing—join Sonya for a 2-hour lyrical essay workshop on June 18.
Books on our (collective) nightstands: Yours Truly, After Annie, A Place to Hang the Moon, Upon Waking, Family, Family: A Novel, Grief is for People, Dwell Differently, The Unplugged Hours, The Eyes and the Impossible, and our Exhale book club picks, One In a Millennial and The Anxious Generation.
Channel that Fun Mom™ energy with these reusable water balloons.
Is summer face a thing? Because we’re loving this low-maintenance tinted moisturizer and all-in-one face and lip color.
A few experience gift ideas for Father’s day: The Avett Brothers concert tickets, a comedy show with Mike Birbiglia, and keepsake journals—this one for fathers and sons and this one for dads and daughters.
“This is what I’m learning as I stumble along as a mother: that love often shows itself strongest in the wake of heartache, regret, and shame, when we turn back to each other and discover that we are still there.” // The Tree That You Come Home To by
For alllll the summer activities, our kids will be toting these virtually indestructible water bottles.
A gift idea for the word lovers: printable and frameable poems.
“In some ways, a more palliative world demands huge systemic and structural change. But in others, it only demands the tiniest of personal shifts. Walk slower. Laugh alongside. Pour a small glass of beer. Pour it again. And again. Don’t ask questions someone can’t answer. Play the old music. Notice what and who is right in front of you. Give art. Never pity. Simple and sacred, be gentle and kind.” // Longing for a Palliative World by
In our earbuds: Jess Connolly does a deep dive into aging—botox, skinny jeans, and midlife crises—in this episode. We also loved this series with Kelly Corrigan and Christy Turlington Burns for Every Mother Counts.
A simple pleasure: a pretty (and intentionally designed) journal.
Sarah’s (paleo!) summer broccoli salad is a family favorite for picnics, potlucks, and everything in between.
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 | A guest post by
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"The garden isn’t a place for perfection, if you ask me. It’s a place to try new things and dream and slow down. It’s an exercise in patience and unhurried work. It’s an opportunity to ask myself, What will I keep? What will I leave behind? What new things will I grow?"
This. This is what has been drawing me to the idea of gardening lately. This idea of presence, patience, trust, faith, and celebrating slow growth. All things that have been piquing my heart in this season.
Love the newsletter ❤️ Hyper-specific question after reading: whoever is reading Grief is for People-I just got it from the library! What did you think?