I like to spend time in my garden. Whether it is digging a new flower bed, tending herbs in a pot, anticipating bulbs filled with spring or the latest project, a raised bed vegetable garden. Time doesn’t seem to matter and before I know it, an hour or two has passed.
What is it about getting my hands dirty that can soothe my soul? I can work at my own pace. Progress is easily measured by the weeds removed or the mulch spread. But the allure is more than what is visible to the eyes. I can experiment and not be afraid of failure. I can change my mind. I always learn something new. I can dream. I thank God for the simple blessings in life. On a pretty day, neighbors will linger to visit and catch up until the next time.
As I walk around my landscape, I know the plants by name and by a story of kindness. There are Pat’s mums, phlox, hosta and walking onions; Kathi’s fountain grass, irises and sedum; and my mother-in-law’s black-eyed Susans. Joy is naturally multiplied when gardens are shared. In my garden, there is always beauty to behold, even in the dead of winter.
You drench its furrows and level its ridges; you soften it with showers and bless its crops. You crown the year with your bounty, and your carts overflow with abundance.
Let my teaching fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.