I visited my little garden today. The one in the community plot at the Methodist Church. How different she seems now as we near September than she did only a month or two ago. And yes, I do think of my garden as a woman, a beautiful woman with a very short life. In June and July she was lush. Her cheeks were rosy and full; she was all a-blossom and bearing fruit.
But now she seems so weary and tired... a very old woman
who has given her all. She is spent. She sits in silence, head bowed...she needs to rest.
The spinach and lettuce have gone to seed and the heads of dill are all dried up--but even in the dryness, their pungent aroma lingers. The scarlet runner beans bulge with pretty red pods, and I have just one hill, only one precious hill of potatoes left to dig. I can't bring myself to dig it up just yet. I think I will wait for a special occasion, and maybe Kelly will come and dig them with me--after all, he helped me plant them. Aside from the potatoes and beans, all that's really left to harvest are the kale and tomatoes, both of which I have far more than I can imagine what to do with. I pick a few half-ripened tomatoes and leave the rest to ripen on the vine.
The tomato plants have grown so large (about four feet high I guess,) that my crudely-fashioned stick-cages have collapsed from the weight of them. (Note to self...buy the wire cages next year.) The fruit left lying on the ground is rotting on one side, so I pick it and toss it into a pile, and wonder what a poor child sifting through garbage dumps would think of this waste. Which leads me to wonder why I am standing here in this beautiful little piece of Eden while others forage in landfills. Which gives me this mixed emotion of shame and gratitude.
But since shame is such a useless, toxic emotion, I shake it off and choose gratitude; the only appropriate response to grace...
So I say a quiet little prayer, thanking God for my garden. For rich, fertile soil and sunshine. For rain showers and ladybugs. I thank Him for the sweet carrots and corn, and for all of the tender green lettuce. And for the fact that I am here, in this garden.
Then I speak a blessing over my Garden. She's worked hard for me this season, and I dearly love her for it.
But now she seems so weary and tired... a very old woman
who has given her all. She is spent. She sits in silence, head bowed...she needs to rest.
The spinach and lettuce have gone to seed and the heads of dill are all dried up--but even in the dryness, their pungent aroma lingers. The scarlet runner beans bulge with pretty red pods, and I have just one hill, only one precious hill of potatoes left to dig. I can't bring myself to dig it up just yet. I think I will wait for a special occasion, and maybe Kelly will come and dig them with me--after all, he helped me plant them. Aside from the potatoes and beans, all that's really left to harvest are the kale and tomatoes, both of which I have far more than I can imagine what to do with. I pick a few half-ripened tomatoes and leave the rest to ripen on the vine.
The tomato plants have grown so large (about four feet high I guess,) that my crudely-fashioned stick-cages have collapsed from the weight of them. (Note to self...buy the wire cages next year.) The fruit left lying on the ground is rotting on one side, so I pick it and toss it into a pile, and wonder what a poor child sifting through garbage dumps would think of this waste. Which leads me to wonder why I am standing here in this beautiful little piece of Eden while others forage in landfills. Which gives me this mixed emotion of shame and gratitude.
But since shame is such a useless, toxic emotion, I shake it off and choose gratitude; the only appropriate response to grace...
So I say a quiet little prayer, thanking God for my garden. For rich, fertile soil and sunshine. For rain showers and ladybugs. I thank Him for the sweet carrots and corn, and for all of the tender green lettuce. And for the fact that I am here, in this garden.
Then I speak a blessing over my Garden. She's worked hard for me this season, and I dearly love her for it.
How can I repay the Lord for all His goodness to me?
I will sacrifice a thank-offering to you, and call on the name of the Lord...
Psalms 116: 12 and 17
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4 comments:
That was lovely.
What a beautiful garden post! Yes, a dying garden is sad, but those last few things have a beauty of their own and I can tell you are one to see it. Your pictures are beautiful too, as always.
Good to read your thoughts here!
Ihave also heard... god helps those who help themselves. You planted this garden and you've enjoy the fruits of your labor. All things come to an end and so do our gardens. I love your analogy of the woman getting old. My garden, too, is dying. But it's a beautiful death and worth the effort of it's fruitful life. Thanks for a thought provoking post.
I love the composite photo on your blog header. Very nice.
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