growing food

I love gardening. Sort of a love-hate thing, really. I love the results, and don't mind most of the work, but this time of year it is a lot of work--tilling, planting, weeding, mulching, digging, pulling. My hands are calloused, my back hurts, my nails are ragged and constantly dirty. I don't have to do any of it, but in the end it is all worth it. Looking over the wild riot of summer flowers, butterflies floating above fragrant blooms, finches hanging from sunflowers, and morning glories dripping from the eaves, it is all worth it.

But for the overwhelmingly practical side of me, I grow vegetables. Growing things to eat gives me a really good feeling, a sense of my own hand mixed with the wonder of creation. Watching plants grow and bloom and fruit and ripen into something edible never ceases to amaze me. I love going out into the garden and picking something right before we eat it, shaking the dirt from the roots or the dew from the leaves. I always point out to the family, "The cilantro and chives in this dish are from the garden" or "These are our tomatoes" or "Look! Onions! I grew big, yellow onions!" Right now we have this bed of lettuce and spinach near ready to eat. We are eating early Spring herbs and asparagus from the bed I put in four years ago. Behind them will come strawberries, peas, basil, peppers, tomatoes, tomatillos, blueberries, parsley, blackberries and summer squash. And in the fall, we will have good onions and garlic and I will turn all of the left over basil into pesto for the winter. Growing food makes me feel that life is good and abundant and blessed.