Experimentation became the gift of my second
year. I tried new and different plantings. I attempted to
grow part of my vegetables from seed. I taught myself
how to can, freeze, and dry food so that I could enjoy my
treasures all year long. Gardening became more of an artistic endeavor than a measured science. I threw caution
to the wind and began to trust Creation. I resisted the urge
to manage my plants and let them just be. By the end of
the summer, I gleaned an abundant harvest, but I also realized that I had learned a thing or two about surrender, as
well.
The third year of gardening was by far my most
meaningful. From snowy February mornings to starry
October evenings, I rarely missed a day when time wasn’t
spent in the dirt. You see, that year I found God in my
garden, and it all began with a clove of garlic.
That November, I read an article on planting and
harvesting garlic bulbs. In my quest to have something
growing year-round, this new endeavor captured my attention. I reached into my kitchen cabinet, grabbed every
clove I could find, and then headed out to the bed that
would be the sunniest in winter. As I pushed each piece
of the bulb down into the soil, my tween daughter rolled
her eyes. “Really? Do you think that’s going to
grow?!” I looked up at her and affirmed my belief, and I
never let on that I felt a bit tentative, as well.
By February, both of us stood in amazement as
green shoots pushed their way up through cold snow and
ice. We had not had a winter like this one in a long
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