God in the Garden

It is our second season of learning how to be good plant parents. I grew up surrounded by gardeners. People who, beaming, would dive their teeth into the fresh crisp red of a homegrown tomato, right off of the vine. People who treated their plants as their children, and unfortunately, at times- better. You’d think having been surrounded by plant people, things would’ve rubbed off on me by osmosis. Despite my mother’s best attempts, my awe didn’t extend beyond a passing curiosity at a seedling freeing itself from within its previous carcass.

Then 2020 happened. Everyone was slowing down, but I felt myself speeding up. Fear drove a lot of our choices that year, as I am sure many can relate to. I had thought I was going to pursue a new degree, a new career path into anthropology, or coaching. I found myself instead, in a garden overridden with sprawling tomatoes turned-wild, and a baby strapped to my back. I wondered frequently if growing our own food was going to be a necessity. If I needed to hurry up and learn some skills.

I loved that garden, and it was a zoo. I had never done this before, and my husband was working out-of-state, so a lot of the care and keeping fell to me. I found the isolation of being a newly stay-at-home & virtual-learning-mother in a pandemic to be harrowing, and I wasn’t remarkably enthused about having another thing to try and take care of. But, I would haul myself outside at the coolest point of day anyway, to manage a garden that had grown far beyond my skill level.

As the season wore on, I became attached to the plants. My son still hilariously recalls one of my finer gardening moments. In my fury at the instability of life, I wailed a rock down on the squashbug eggs which were covering my pumpkins. Tears streamed down my face, he caught me screaming: “I won’t let you take my pumpkins, you mother- fuckers!” I had lovingly laid blankets over our hoops to cover them, and prayed for the best during a very late frost. I had run outside, with a screaming baby in tow, as gale winds threatened to tear all of our plants out by the root; frantically securing plastic with clips that more often than not would pop right off. I had tried to keep up with a huge amount of weeding, with an attachment baby who just wouldn’t be put down (a truly impossible task). After all that effort, it was hard for me to forgive the seemingly insurmountable number of black bugs. I lost every squash.

We learned a lot that first year. What our true capacity is. How much there is to learn. That squash bugs are my greatest enemies. But, most importantly, about the wonder of the rhythms of life. How divinely inspired it all seems. I am a human who has birthed life, and the wonder of that is not lost on me, but something about gardening brings it home: how fragile it all is, and how resilient. We are deeply excited for what we will learn this season.

This morning my toddler and I sat in deep squats on our patio, transplanting some hearty seedlings that are prepared to move into our new greenhouse, and my heart beamed with love. We poured and scooped dirt, practiced counting, and watered gently. Lovingly setting them in the warmth of the sun, I let the crescendo of late winter sounds encompass me. Here is God. Showing Himself to us in the love of His own creation.

Thank you.