It's officially summer. At least, it is in my neck of the world. Wanna know how I know? Today, we planted the garden.
You might not know about our garden, so please, if you have a few minutes, let me tell you why this place is so special to me.
Every year for as long as I can remember, my dad has planted a garden. So did his dad. So did his dad's dad. So did a lot of people in my neighborhood. I thought it was something that everyone did. It seemed so natural to use the soil that we had to grow food for our family. When I went away to college, I learned that this wasn't necessarily the case..
Growing your own food? That was almost unheard of--and also a waste of time to a lot of people. Why grow your own when you could go to Wal-Mart and get all the fruits and veggies you want washed, waxed, and ready wherever and whenever you want? I bought into it. I did the Wal-Mart thing. I got whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it. Indicative of our generation? Yeah, I think so.
Then, one day during the Spring of my sophomore year, I got the urge to grow something. For several years, I had helped my dad plant his garden. It was hard work, but it was fulfilling. I knew that spending that time out in the hot sun would produce something wonderful that we would be able to enjoy well into the winter months. I'm pretty sure it's in my blood. So, when March rolled around and the long State College winter started to relent, I knew I needed to grow something. I went out to Lowe's and got a small herb window garden. I was so excited to get it back to my dorm to start my plants. There was only one small problem..our window did not get any direct sunlight. Hmm...ahh! The bathroom right across from our room had a window with a huge sill that got plenty of sunlight! Perfect! Faithfully, I would take my plants into the bathroom every morning and bring them back to our room every night. One evening, I went to get my plants, and they were gone. The people who cleaned our bathroom had thrown them away. I was so angry. My plants that I had nurtured and cared for were gone. Maybe that's when I realized how much having a garden meant to me.
There's something absolutely amazing about placing a small seed in the earth and watching God turn it into a giant plant that produces delicious food for us to eat. Every part of creation points back to God. It can be something as majestic as the mountains I'll be living in for the next few weeks on my summer project in Wyoming or as small as the box turtle my dad found in our yard today. Every part of creation tells us something about a part of the creator. It's kind of funny to think about what that small box turtle tells me about the character of God. He was kind of timid and always had a cross look on his face. But, he was pretty funny when you picked him up and he stuck his neck out really far. I named him Joseph.
Every Spring when the danger of frost has gone and Dad's tomato plants that he started inside from seed look like they're going to just pick their roots up and jump out the window if they don't get in the ground soon, we know that it's time to start the garden. It's always a sunny day. It's almost always hot, and even if it's not, we end up sweating. After Dad tills everything, we stand at the end of the dirt and plan out our map. Three rows of sweet corn in the upper right. Tomatoes below that, and at the very bottom, the lettuce and radishes that have already gotten a head start. Make sure you don't put the beans too close to the zucchinis because the vines will be sprawling out. The freshly turned dirt looks like a canvas, and both of us stand at the edge imagining the lush green life that will be covering it in a month or two.
My Dad and I don't spend a ton of time together, especially since I've been away at college. He's not a huge talker or philosopher, and I can understand that. He's a simple guy, and probably one of the smartest men I know. We don't have deep, intricate conversations while we're up in the garden, but sometimes I think there's something deeper. This is our tradition. As we work alongside one another like a well oiled machine, there's an understanding that it wouldn't be the same if the other wasn't there, and for me, that's enough.
The first thing to come will be the lettuce. Want a salad? Who needs Wal-Mart when you can walk right up the hill and pick fresh lettuce still wet from the morning dew? Then come the zucchini. Mom will be in the kitchen grating, mixing, and baking until we have enough double chocolate zucchini bread to feed the entire town. After that comes the green beans--bushels of them. Now, it's time to dust off the canning jars, set some water to boil and grab some help. Snapping the ends off of green beans is tedious work, I can tell you that. But, I can also tell you that it's a thousand times less tedious when you have someone to do it with. My grandma is usually my partner. I suspect she will be again this year, as her favorite gardener, my grandfather, passed away in December. He loved gardening, and he dedicated a large part of his life to caring for his plants. Like I said, it's in my blood. After the beans come the cabbages, which are gigantic. My dad grows 22lb. cabbages. Don't ask me how. And don't ask him. He doesn't really know either. Next are the tomatoes. Second only to old Christmas ornaments, the smell of tomato juice slow cooking on the stove is my favorite smell in the world. It finds its way into every part of the house. I think the smell of it just reminds me of being in the kitchen with my mom and dad, laughing, joking, and working. It's a good memory. Sweet corn comes late in the summer, and all of the silk goes to the neighbor's cows after we shuck it. They'll eat it right out of your hand like candy. The last things to remain into the crisp nights that signal the beginning of fall are the indian corn, gourds, and pumpkins.
This might sound incredibly boring to you. Who cares about where all of this stuff comes from? Who cares about how it's made? Who cares about how long it takes to grow? Well, I think that God cares. He gave this gift to my family.
Through it, he teaches me lessons about waiting. That corn I planted today won't be ready to eat for about another 70 or 80 days. That's a long time! I can't just decide one day that I'd like some corn. I don't want to just run to the store and get some. I have to be patient. Sometimes I expect God to be like Wal-Mart. Give me what I want when I want it. At the right price. That's not who God is. I've stopped shopping at Wal-Mart.
He also teaches me about spending time with the people I love. I'm slowing down. I'm working with them. We're working together. We're talking. We're laughing. We're in community with one another. "For where two or three are gathered.."(Matt. 18:20)
So there it is. That's my garden. That's why it's special. Can I give you some unsolicited advice? Wait for something. Spend time with people you love. Grow a garden. Thank God for every seed, every rock, every plant, every weed, every fruit. He created them all because he loves you.
It might seem silly, but I couldn't help but laugh at the juxtaposition of seeing dirt washing over my metallic purple painted toenails today. I always work barefoot when we're planting. I'd take rocky Pennsylvania soil over sand in my toes any day. I think God laughed too.
God Bless.
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