The Joy and Pain of Gardening

There is this crazy urge that I get each Spring when the first crocuses peek out of bed, and the daffodils put on their bonnets–it is called, in my vernacular, time to dig. Whether it is digging into the black dirt with my toes, or grabbing a shovel and digging holes, or using a tiller to turn the soil over for planting–It truly doesn’t matter because the urge is simply to dig-dig-dig.

Along with this urge comes a need to plant baby flowers and vegetables in the hope of watching them grow into fruit producers and bloomers of the garden variety. Before this can be accomplished, however, there are many steps toward this luxurious goal. No pain no gain.

As I am no longer in the ‘bloom’ of youth, each year it becomes harder and harder to perform the gardening tasks necessary to say that I have had a wonderful, productive season.  I used to be able to kneel and pat those little suckers right into place with no aching aftereffects, but now Mr. Arthur shows up almost immediately after I have patted the last little plant and put them to bed. Ibuprofen to the rescue!!! I guess if I weren”t so driven I would simply let the garden do the natural thing. It would overgrow itself quickly and what a tangled mess I would have.

Since it is human to want to control everything and everybody around you, lest there be any surprises, I struggle year after year to reach the same gardening goals of  twenty years ago. I want little pansies to smile at me while giant sunflowers tower over the fence and protect the borders. I long to see Jack command his pulpit while begonias beguile me with their constant beauty and variety. The shrubs and bushes offer summer glamour while fruit trees, maples, and oak offer bountiful shade.

I am a sensory person. I enjoy textures and myriad colors around me. Nothing is more sensory than touching the fleshy petal of a Day Lily or an Iris. The beauty that is the rose family is absolutely breathtaking–domestic or wild. The variety of colors  is mind-boggling–giving me a glimpse into the rainbows of Heaven. Will there be gardens there to plant and explore?

There is great joy in watching the tomatoes grow and ripen on the vine. Cucumber’s yellow flowers team with the golden orange of the melon flowers. Such a lovely scene. The greens of the foliage form a wonderful contrast to the bursts of color that speak of fruit to come.

My garden always makes me think of the responsibility of parenting. The little seeds that we are given to water and nourish grow quickly. If we give them good food then we will yield a plenteous harvest with strong seed toward the next generation. Will it be easy? No. Just as the garden in my yard takes careful tending in order to grow–so do my children. My difficulty is that I am like ‘The Old Lady Who lived In A Shoe’– I have so many children in my heart that I don’t know what to do. At home and abroad, they take careful tending each day. An earnest prayer here and some encouragement there–a shake of the head when I see them making some of the same mistakes that I made in my own youth; panic when I see that they are going to follow their own chosen path making wise or unwise choices along the journey and disregarding my loving advice. 

I will continue to tend my gardens and the mixed bed of joy and sorrow will be mine to lie upon. Prayerfully, hopefully, the flowers of my heart will someday bloom with beauty and wisdom. I will then hold them close and kiss the dew from their faces.

credit: charlene @charlenesattic.com

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