Our vegetable garden attunes me to what is essential. It is a
therapeutic, earthy place where I work hard, but also retreat from normative
distractions. Here I sink into elemental belonging.
We enjoyed the first harvest of baby greens yesterday, and a few edible nasturtiums. Pregnant hills have just birthed
babies that will grow to be vines. A few
yellow blossoms hang from an early-bearing tomato plant.
There’s something remedial about feeling garden dirt crumble in my hands.
“Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed
into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”
Genesis 2:7
In this sterile world of protective antibiotic gel in handy
squirt bottles, it may seem almost radical to invite dirt beneath my fingernails. However, I intuitively know it belongs there, just as God-given vegetation growing from the earth belongs in my
stomach – evidences of touchable, divine supremacy and basic fulfillment.
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