Posts Tagged → gardening

blessings.

This was a fun week.

It was a week of sunshine. Lots and lots and lots of sunshine. Sunburns, freckles, sweaty heads. Scraped knees, black-bottomed feet, green-stained clothes. And just enough rain to sit and rest for a wonderful afternoon.

It was a week of gardening. Several up-with-the-sun mornings for me. Throw on work clothes, take my coffee outside, listen to birds while I turn sod: this is as summery as it gets to me. I love it. And now, five new rose bushes, a hydrangea, 1 lilac bush moved, 20 day lilies moved, ranunculus bulbs planted, lettuce thinned, yarrow and speedwell bought and planted, six hollyhocks of a new variety, and a smattering of hopeful seeds. Wow. That was a lot of work!

It was a week of learning. A friend and I put together a “discussion on natural childbirth.” Every time I dive into that topic, I’m freshly awed by the miracle of life. The whole thing is just amazing design — and a humbling privilege.

It was a week of play. Some weeks, the boys regularly wake on the wrong side of the bed. Other weeks, they wake up ready to pretend and laugh and play and share and just be the best kids ever. They came up with so many new games and activities this week, and it was refreshing for my soul to just watch and enjoy.

It was a week of growing. Beatrice has unwittingly discovered real, bonafide crawling. She still prefers a military crawl, but it won’t be long. She pulls herself almost to standing with the help of our ottoman, and happily navigates her way through the entire house. It’s so very much fun, but all so very much too soon.

Yes, exhaustion, frustration, uncertainty, overwhelmed moments. But really? Really?

I just am feeling very blessed.

bits and pieces

Two days ago, we collected our spades and rakes, hoes and edger, gloves and wheelbarrow, fertilizer and baseball bats, and we headed to the small corner chosen to be the vegetable patch. It’s a beginner’s sized patch — maybe 4×6? — and I’ll confess to a niggling fear that clever deer will outwit me and eat everything I manage to grow, but perhaps there will be a bit of success. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I sat right in the dirt, exhausted after an hour and half, and dug up sod, beat the dirt free of entangling roots, hurled the clump at the wheelbarrow, and dug up more sod. I thought of a dozen summers spent in just such a fashion, only I was but a girl then, in my mother’s garden. And now, now there were two boys playing beside me, and they are my boys. And this is my yard.

I looked up to see expanse of sky, meadows stretching into woods. I heard only wind and the song of birds. All over again, I was blessed. Do you know how many times I timidly hoped for a bit of space where I could grow things and watch my kids climb trees, pack paperbag lunches and send sons out to explore? No, you probably don’t know, but God knew.

*****

Tonight, carmelized onion quiche. Don’t ask me why, but it popped into my head last week, and I haven’t been able to shake it. I haven’t even ever had it, but I want it. So I pull out 3 speckled brown eggs from the fridge, all different sizes, and I crack them into a bowl. Deeply golden. I know they’re just eggs, but it makes me happy.

Today we visited the chickens that lay those eggs, and also the lovely family who owns those chickens. Jameson ran happily out into the field, right into the midst of a herd of goats, never once slowing down or fearing. He climbed happily into the chicken coop, and then pushed his way through a barn of energetic kids — goat kids, that is. Tractors, horses, a pregnant kitty, a dog — he couldn’t get enough. We even spotted him sneaking into the bull’s pen. In a few years, I tell her, I’ll send him down to help out. Perhaps we can get some of that delicious raw goat milk in return?

He declared it to be “an awesome, awesome play time, Mama!”

*****

I’m finding that all quiet moments lead to thoughts of Linda. Linda, the dear woman who lays 10 miles away in a hospital room. A hospital room where she’s dying of starvation and dehydration. I think of Psalm 18 — of a God of power and love who is stirred to action, who comes with clouds of darkness and thunder and who smites His enemies. A God who delivers, because He delights in us. And I ask. I ask Him to come and speak life.

One little word.

That’s all we need.

That’s all she needs.