These days, I often see my father in the small patch of land behind our home. For many years, he devoted himself to the field of teaching. His days were filled with students, long hours in classrooms, stacks of papers to grade, and all the responsibilities that come with this demanding profession. His routine was tight, with hardly a moment that was truly his own. Yet, even in that busy life, there was a quiet joy he found – the satisfaction of watching students grow, of tending to each mind with patient care until they could stand on their own.Now, retirement has stripped away that structured rush, but not the small, ordinary joy that comes from nurturing something day after day. Instead, I see it sprouting again in a different form – in the neat rows of seeds and vegetables he now grows in the corner of our yard. Most mornings, he steps out early, a woven basket swinging lightly from his hand. He clears dry leaves, checks for insects, lifts the leaves to see how they are coming along, and ties up any stem that needs help standing straight. Sometimes, he just stands still for a while, looking over the green rows with the same quite pride he once had when watching his students find their footing. Nothing hurries him now. No bell calls him back inside. No stack of answer sheets waits on his desk. What once was a hectic day has opened up into the small, ordinary tasks that only belong to him and yet, the quiet satisfaction remains the same.At first, I thought this small patch of soil was just a way for him to fill empty hours – a hobby to pass the time. However, as I watch him in his routine, I see more than that. He brings the same patient care to this land that he dedicated to nurturing students. There is a steady grace in how he waters each bed, moving from row to row, and he inspects each young shoot that has grown from a seed and will soon bear vegetables, his fingers gentle but precise as he checks for pests. There is care in the way he supports a bending stem or mounds up in the soil around its base, making sure what he once planted stays steady and strong. These small things done in quiet, ordinary corners of our yard have become his new classroom. Where he once shaped his students’ paths, he now helps life emerge from the soil.Each seed, like a student, receives care and attention, allowed to grow at its own pace. The soil demands no deadlines or urgency, instead offering moments of calm and a sense of meaning rooted in the ordinary. Watching him, I realise how often we overlook the beauty of the ordinary. We are taught to chase grand achievements and measure success by what stands out as extraordinary. While this has its place, it often blinds us to the everyday joys that come from small practices. My father shows me that the ordinary is never empty. His fulfilment in teaching did not vanish with retirement; it simply put down new roots in another patch of life. He reminds me that as old routines end, life does not lose its meaning.Throughout this short reflection, I invite readers to reconsider the ordinary, seeing it not as meaningless but as a space where significance quietly accumulates. My father’s post-retirement life illustrates that the mundane is not merely what remains when the extraordinary recedes, but a space shaped through small things – the modest acts of care, unhurried routines, and quiet discipline of tending to what matters.My father’s engagement with the ordinary reveals that the mundane is rich with significance, informing how we navigate the world around us. The ordinary should not be transcended or left behind; rather, it is something to revisit with deeper awareness and renewed appreciation.Himanshu Nath is a PhD Candidate in the Department of Sociology at Tezpur University, Assam, India. His research interests lie in the areas of everyday lives, gender and livelihoods. He can be reached at himanshunath.ac@gmail.com.We’ve grown up hearing that “it’s the small things” that matter. That’s true, of course, but it’s also not – there are Big Things that we know matter, and that we shouldn’t take our eyes, minds or hearts off of. As journalists, we spend most of our time looking at those Big Things, trying to understand them, break them down, and bring them to you.And now we’re looking to you to also think about the small things – the joy that comes from a strangers’ kindness, incidents that leave you feeling warm, an unexpected conversation that made you happy, finding spaces of solidarity. Write to us about your small things at thewiresmallthings@gmail.com in 800 words or less, and we will publish selected submissions. We look forward to reading about your experiences, because even small things can bring big joys.Read the series here.