Every summer one of our chores was helping in the garden. My mother's garden was enormous. Dad would till it up for her in the early spring - as soon as the soil was ready. Then as mother directed, he would make rows for her with an antique single plowshare. Together they would sow the seeds, row by row, marking the ends with a stick. The seed packet was then slipped over the stick to show what was planted.
The garden was then ready for gentle rains. The rich black soil soaked in the sunshine and soon the seeds would germinate and the plants would begin to pop through the soil. One job that was important all summer long was hoeing. The weeds also grew and would take over the garden if not kept in control. It wasn't bad early in the year but the ground seemed to get harder as the summer went along.
I didn't mind picking raspberries or strawberries because there was sampling along the way. Mom knew it was dangerous to allow me to pod the peas because I loved eating the fresh green peas raw. Green beans were one of the most time-consuming to pick. There were always several long rows of these to pick, stem, and freeze and be there to last till next year. Everything in the garden got preserved in some manner and was ready to be pulled out in the cold days of February.
"Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior," (Habakkuk 3:17-18 NIV).
The garden is a joyful place. I can commune with God in the garden so easily. His presence is known in all that is growing. From radishes to potatoes or strawberries to grapes, every plant is touched by God.
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