When I began gardening a few years ago, all I really wanted was a tomato that tasted like a tomato. That first summer, I was so excited to find that my cherry tomatoes did in fact ripen and become sweet, juicy tomatoes that were rich with the taste of summer. Even my young children, who previously shunned tomatoes, loved to pick these little red balls that would burst in their mouths.
Each year since, my garden has grown. One year I tried zucchini from seedlings and the next I grew it from seed and was surprised that these did better. From here, I tried the close relatives of the zucchini - yellow squash, pumpkins, even butternut squash. I still don't have broccoli or eggplants quite figured out, but have plans to improve their health next year.
Along the way, as would be expected, I have grown as a gardener. I have expanded my small plot to berms that travel around my yard. I have underwatered and overwatered and killed more than a few plants along the way. I have planted things that were totally inappropriate for my climate and watched them fade away despite my care. I have learned about different kinds of soil, which bugs are beneficial and how to attract them, and even what compost is and how to make it. Yet, what has surprised me the most is how much my garden has become a place of spiritual growth and renewal.
In spring, I find myself thinking about the hopefulness of the whole endeavor. I wonder about ancient people and how they made their discoveries of the life cycle of plants. I find myself praying as they may have prayed for the life within the seed to grow and poke through the soil. In a few weeks, as one by one the sprouts come forth, I am overwhelmed by a sense of the miraculous. I know the science that explains the process, but I am nevertheless filled with joy at the power of life.
As spring gives way to summer, my I find myself meditating on ideas of nurturing and the labors of love. It is not a burden for me to wake up at dawn and go water my vegetables but rather I find pleasure in the peacefulness of this time. I pay attention to how things are growing and sometimes find myself happily encouraging them with kind words. My prayers during this time seem to be a lot about mothers in the world, all connected through the way we love and nurture our children. I also think about and pray for children in the world whose needs have been neglected and for them to be loved, respected and cared for in the way that they deserve.
In late summer each trip to the garden is a lesson in gratitude. Even though I saw a zucchini ripening, I am so grateful when I pick it and bring it inside to prepare. I am grateful to sun, water, bees, dirt, and some greater goodness that surely must be part of this process. With this gratitude comes a desire to share my abundance. I find myself offering the jewels of my garden with others. It is also a time to be grateful for pleasures and savor the rewards of labor. Each bite of roasted zucchini with rosemary and garlic is a moment of bliss.
Now it is approaching the end of the growing season and my mind is looking ahead and planning next year's garden. The basil got too much sun this year and so I will need to find a shadier spot. The raspberries are doing better, but I still need to research and discover how to make them thrive. I find myself contemplating religion and how it is essentially an effort to ensure a good harvest. I envision God as a gardener who cares less for the plans and more about the lessons of hope, love, and gratitude that come as we engage in our lives.
Some of my best days are those that start in the garden because I carry these lessons with me like little seeds within my heart. Each year my garden has grown, my heart has grown too. For that, I am the most grateful.
