Waypoints Along Seasons: Ladders, Trellises, and How We Move Together
Farmshare plates, seasonal thresholds, and leadership you can feel
Two seasons on one table
These days the light lingers in coming and slips away sooner, yet the hours in between still grow warm enough to feel like summer at noon. Our farmshare mirrors the moment. For a family gathering this weekend, we brought a tomato salad composed of roasted sweet corn, cucumber, tender zucchini ribbons, garden-plucked basil, and a handful of husk cherries, folded with a light vinaigrette. We paired this with an early autumn plate of acorn squash brushed with my daughter’s orchard-fresh apple butter.
Seasons and how we experience them
Lately I’ve been thinking about the ways people experience change and seasons—not only the seasons of the year, but also the seasons in a life. Some friends are already carving pumpkins and planning Halloween costumes. Others are still out on the Casco Bay waters during warm afternoons. We need a shared starting place, yet we rarely arrive at it in the same way or at the same time. If we focus only on differences, we miss our chance to move together.
A seasonal lens across traditions
People from different traditions and backgrounds may be standing in different “seasons,” even as they gather on the same day, in the same place. Modern science continues to glean wisdom from ancient understanding.
Trellises, ladders, and wayfinding the Bountiful Path
Last week we mapped how groups grow, from Forming to Performing, and discussed why beginnings shape outcomes. Staying with the garden image, Norming is the work of setting lattice and trellis so the vines of progress can find their way. We agree on supports, spacing, and how to tie and tend. Structural trellis work isn’t flashy, but it’s essential.
On the Bountiful Path we use waypoints to keep our bearings as we navigate the seasons of life and nature. Trellises and ladders work like waypoints. Ladders help an individual climb, one strong rung at a time. Trellises provide a shared structure so everyone can rise without tangling the growth. Latticework—the cross-hatch—distributes weight and turns many single climbs into one ascent. Wayfinding needs both: your next rung and our next rail.
“Individual ladders build height; shared trellises build connection.”
If we focus on our individual ladders, we gain height but not connection. If we link our ladders into a shared trellis, we create structure that can hold more than any one of us could on our own. In leadership and in life, the question becomes practical: how do we encourage people to build their own strong ladders while reaching across to others so a trellis takes shape and the group can grow together toward the light?
Vertical and horizontal growth
Ladders and latticework have shaped my career. I chose family medicine because I wanted to understand people in context. During residency I rotated through pediatrics, obstetrics, surgery, and other specialties. That horizontal range helped me care for a family across generations. At the same time, every clinic day asked me to build vertical strength with specific patients and problems. Over time I kept learning in both directions. When I completed a second doctorate in leadership studies, I went deep on theory. Then I took roles where I could apply those ideas in practice and widen my view again.
Artists navigate a similar rhythm. Some go deep into a single medium and subject for decades. Others work in series, moving through watercolor, acrylic, encaustic, or mixed media. Both paths have integrity when they match the season of the artist’s life. Years ago I interviewed Lois Lowry, the acclaimed Maine author of The Giver, Number the Stars and numerous other award-winning best-sellers. I reread many of her earlier books before we spoke. When I asked about those works, she said they belonged to a different time in her life and preferred to talk about her recent writing. That clarity made sense to me. When my children were young I spent a decade writing for the Parent & Family Newspaper. When they got older, I became a writer and editor for a regional lifestyle media collective. The season shifted. The subject followed.
Studio notes: two ways of building color
I visited two Portland Art Gallery artists in their studios recently, and learned much about their different processes and tools of the trade. Annie Darling works with wax and oils; Greg Day brings a 3D printer into conversation with metal and epoxy. Both lean into saturated color and thoughtful layering. I found myself noticing how lines meet curves in their work, and asking how past paths shape present practice. Annie’s years as a graphic designer show in her clarity of composition and command of negative space. Greg’s architectural background appears in structure and in the way a gentle arc moves across a piece.
Visiting people in their spaces
Understanding context has been foundational to every role I’ve held. As a physician, teacher, mentor, and coach, I joined medical students and early-career physicians during patient visits and team meetings. As leader on a healthcare system executive team, I shadowed in the emergency department, on the hospital floor, and in surgical clinics. My goal was to better understand people’s version of the world, as part of Norming and trellis-building. When we meet people in their space, we agree on a truer starting point. Then ladders and trellises make sense.
Returning and returning
Seasonality reminds us that returns are rarely repeats. Birds follow familiar routes, yet the sky is different each year. Our personal seasons move in the same way. We keep expanding and contracting, vertically and horizontally, learning where focus is needed and where range brings wisdom. If we cling to a single season or a single way of working, we drift out of alignment with what the moment asks. If we keep a soft grip, we can meet the day as it is.
“Waypoints help us start where people truly are. That is where change becomes possible.”
Closing reflection
Two seasons can share one table. We can fold together tomatoes, corn, and husk cherries while acorn squash roasts nearby. We can mark waypoints, set latticework, and link ladders into trellises. We can visit people in their spaces and see how they are growing—vertically and horizontally. In leadership, in medicine, in art, and in life, this is how we move together: begin where we are, build what connects, and give the work room to grow.
Reflection prompt
Where is your work in its season right now?
What one rung will you finish as you build your own ladder, and where might you link ladders so a trellis can grow?
✨ Thanks for reading, and for walking this bountiful path with me.
Warmly,
Lisa