Growing From Seed

My true nature as an annoying optimist is never more apparent than when I am in the garden. Given the potential for frustration, it is amazing (my husband might have another name for it) that I continue to try. But there is no better balm for my soul than gardening. Plus, it's one heck of a great place to spend time with the kids. In the glorious rain we actually had this May, the children spent hours getting soggy and absolutely covered in mud, rejoicing in each and every worm they found, diligently pulling up weed after weed, dropping seed after hopeful seed into the finger holes I made, or scattering handfuls like wishes, lined up in careful rows.

Last year was the year of the mole and gopher (no Chinese calendar here, this was a hostile takeover). Tom, either in defeat or what I'd rather see as undaunted support built me eight gorgeous raised beds this winter and spring. We have a lovely harvest of onions in our pantry now, and seedlings popping up in every one, unthreatened by burrowing rodents. In all that garden space still left, however, are three rows of corn, an archway of peas, many rows of cutting flowers, and the cabbage, broccoli and chard left over from the winter plantings. (One less corn plant as of yesterday, actually, and one new gopher hole. I'm thinking of not feeding the cats for a few weeks to make them a little more inspired.)

This year we've had the most unbelievable harvests of strawberries - at least a pint a day, and those are what make it into the baskets. My children are pink-lipped and finger tipped and thriving on extra vitamin C. But two days ago while picking, we noticed an infestation of black beetles on a plant. And a new war was waged. Sawyer joined me in the garden yesterday while Jordan was at school, dressed in his latest uniform of shorts and cowboy boots, and armed with a squirt bottle of soapy water. For thirty minutes he diligently and thoroughly sprayed every strawberry plant. And then last night the skies opened and washed clean each and every leaf. So we'll see who comes back. But, to my great joy, my children love being in the garden with me, and I love not having my iPod on, hearing instead the tinkling noises of their words and laughter, the exclamations of excitement, the sounds of their little hoes pinging off the rock hard dirt.

On the way back into the house yesterday, Sawyer called out from ten feet back, "Is this the same snake from before?" and I turned to see him holding a small, curved unmistakably snake body, definitely not the 3 foot long roadkill garter snake brought onto the property and enjoyed by the kids by the previous week. "Sawyer, put down the snake and step away while mama sees what kind it is, okay?" Running, keeping the fear out of my voice. It's a half of a snake, a garter again, it's head devoured either by a cat or the mower. As we walk towards the house together, Sawyer says "The snake is a little bit sad because it doesn't have a head anymore. But it's okay because we still love it." My children often take my breath away with examples of their kind and nurturing hearts. True gardeners from their souls on up.