Gardening Happens When You're Making Other Plans

Well hello there, strangers.  Do I begin every entry that way these days?

There is so much I've wanted to tell you about.  Like, it's May 27th and already, we're enjoying squash and basil from our garden, and lemon zest from the very first lemon from the tree we planted when we moved in here nearly three years ago.  Triumphant.  Worthy of celebration.  You plant things and do your best, and hope and have faith, and show up at least most of the time to water and pull weeds.  And  sometimes you get fruits from your labors.  And vegetables.

(Imagine a lovely photo of a perfectly tender heirloom squash, vibrant basil, and plump lemon inserted here)

Especially in the case of zucchini, it's easy to feel like you know what you are doing, as if you might possibly have some inkling of control.  Pop the starters into a sunny spot in the ground, give it a bit of potting soil, water most of the time, and before you know it, boom.  If you aren't careful, you have giant squash the size of baseball bats threatening to take over your life.  Yes, even you, who thought you didn't know squat about gardening.

Did you remember to stop & give thanks for the fact that at least something something grows, something thrives and refuses to be held back despite all the things that life throws at us? Despite the latest war, or the fact that every time you turn around, it seems someone dear to you is ill, or dying, or dead, trying to recover or just hanging on by a thread?

Well these days, I am.  I am thankful for the squash, and the lemons, and the chard that is not completely healthy, yet not completely withered either.  And the basil, potent and strong.  And the flowers on the tomato and pepper plants, bringing hope for brighter, warmer times to come. Bringing hope for new life in the face of loss.