Everything changes when I visit a quiet plot of earth back
by the woods where tiny seeds miraculously grow into flowers and vegetables. It
brings me much joy.
“Isn’t a garden so
much work?” a friend asked with
empathetic eyes. Yes, of course – almost
daily, from spring through fall, as a labor of love. And yet in some ways, my
garden reminds me of a flourishing, well-loved child. My husband, who is neither a gardener nor a
poet, and had not heard me speak of this, got
it right.
“I know why the plants in your garden do so well,” he said
on a hot day back in July, when tomatoes hung heavy on their vines and
everything was lush.
“Oh? Why?” I replied.
“Because you love them, and they know it.”
Winter squash is now piled in five-gallon buckets in the
shed. I recently pulled the last of the beets, and will pick beans, kale, lettuce
(a second planting) and swiss chard until a heavy frost disables them. This
should be very soon.
It’s almost November, and time to let go of my summer garden - a beautiful cathedral-like sanctuary where God’s presence seems very real. Time
to say good-bye to living things that have nourished soul as
well as body for months. Time to be grateful for giving it all I had to give, and
receiving the most in return.
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