In the Garden . . .

Aren't you glad summer's here? We savor the warmth and sunshine. We look forward to vacations and picnics. We catch up with neighbors over the back fence . . . and enjoy the beauty of flowers bordering sidewalks, along roadsides, and in various pots here and there. At the nurseries I joined the spring crowds loading up their carts with zany zinnias, shade-loving impatiens, bright geraniums, and dependable begonias. Maybe you were there, too?

Yet, for me, the real joy came in purchasing a few vegetable plants.  Last fall (October 20), I blogged about our choice to disassemble my late husband's big garden. We grieved one more loss. At the same time, we conferred with a local master gardener-friend, Susan, who helped us create a small lasagna garden in our yard. Perhaps we could still preserve Barry's legacy. 

We chose an easily accessible sunny corner and began the process with Susan's oversight. We layered leaves and hay, using recycled pavers to mark the boundary. Elisabeth carefully transplanted Barry's old fashioned roses, raspberry plants, and a clump of chives, babying them with hopes and prayers that they would make it. 

Then we waited for spring. 

Mid-May found us in the check-out line with red cabbage, lettuce, Swiss chard, cucumber, and tomato plants. We found beet and bean seeds. And Memorial Day weekend, we planted . . . Elisabeth reminding me of Barry's prior instructions. 

There's something wonderful about a garden. Every day, first thing in the morning, I find my way to our little plot. I marvel at the growth, check for more blossoms, smile at the tiny cucs, pull out the weeds while they're still small, and smell the variegated roses. I remember the man with the green thumb who gave me and our daughters an appreciation for God's good earth and its fruit.

And I realize that, difficult as it is, the change of moving forward is good. With an open mind, it brings its own treasures and joy. There's growth in the process.

So . . . if you're local and happen to be in the area, stop by and peek over our white picket fence. And remember . . . God gives us grace to begin again.