There is a certain kind of spirituality I can only find by gardening. A special peace and solitude, a feeling of being one with the universe. The sun, warm on my back. The feel of soil, sifting through my gloveless fingers. The scent of earth and water. The songbird’s carefree melody. Tiny seeds carefully placed in pockets of moist compost, to emerge, days later as wee green leaves. Truly a rebirth each spring.
Optimism is indispensable to having a garden. There is trust that insects and critters will take no more than their share; and confidence that there will, indeed, be a harvest. Each seed and every transplant is a gesture of faith. I plant peas every spring, mainly because I can’t wait to get out there and dig. I have yet to harvest more than a few handfuls. The birds and worms frequently get more than we do. Even so, I will plant them again next year.
The joy I get from growing food for my family is immeasurable. I can think of no better feeling than serving a meal made with my own, fresh produce. When the children were small, we grew nearly all our vegetables and fruit. The garden was a quarter acre, with everything from asparagus to zucchini. There was always enough to preserve, to share with friends, even some to sell.
I garden on a smaller scale now that the kids are grown, but it’s in my blood. I await the first radish each year with the same eagerness I had as a child. The last tomato picked before frost always makes me a bit sad. I’ve spent many winter evenings engrossed in seed catalogs. My husband says I’m happiest with dirt under my fingernails. I must say, I believe he’s right.
Optimism is indispensable to having a garden. There is trust that insects and critters will take no more than their share; and confidence that there will, indeed, be a harvest. Each seed and every transplant is a gesture of faith. I plant peas every spring, mainly because I can’t wait to get out there and dig. I have yet to harvest more than a few handfuls. The birds and worms frequently get more than we do. Even so, I will plant them again next year.
The joy I get from growing food for my family is immeasurable. I can think of no better feeling than serving a meal made with my own, fresh produce. When the children were small, we grew nearly all our vegetables and fruit. The garden was a quarter acre, with everything from asparagus to zucchini. There was always enough to preserve, to share with friends, even some to sell.
I garden on a smaller scale now that the kids are grown, but it’s in my blood. I await the first radish each year with the same eagerness I had as a child. The last tomato picked before frost always makes me a bit sad. I’ve spent many winter evenings engrossed in seed catalogs. My husband says I’m happiest with dirt under my fingernails. I must say, I believe he’s right.
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