When Not Gardening is a Sin Against Hope

In 2009 I began gardening in earnest. A new community garden opened up in my neighborhood that year, and I hopped on board and claimed my spot. I still remember the exact spring day when, with some trepidation, I first ripped up the ground and planted my first seeds. It was like I was ripping open my own soul.

Each year I've had fatalities. I've had critters come and devour baby plants. I've had disease kill things off. My own stupid mistakes killed some things. One year I allowed what I thought was an extremely fertile zucchini to strangle my broccoli and tomatoes. (It was morning glories. I felt completely dumb.)

I watched fellow gardeners in the community plot plant things and then abandon them. I felt like I was stealing, but sometimes I picked their stuff. But what I didn't pick literally rotted on the vine, and went to waste.

In 2010 my husband lost his job, and I was inspired to dig up the backyard and plant more. Then in 2011 I put in raised beds in our front yard. My kids alerted me to the fact that I was constantly talking about gardens.

And yet, I hated doing the hard work of it all. One year we had a very wet spring, and I made the mistake of tilling when it was muddy. Then it dried, and I had huge, hard clods. Just digging to plant seeds was incredibly tedious work. I was amazed that anything I planted grew at all. Sometimes I didn't water enough during drought; sometimes I let the weeds choke plants out, and sometimes things ripened too quickly and went bad before I could harvest.

Last summer we meant to have our backyard wall repaired, but it stayed just as broken as it was when we moved in. There had been another case of mistaken plant identity which had resulted in the yard being filled with pokeweed and burdock, and the man who was going to repair our wall (but never did) counseled me to leave all the weeds to help keep the soil in place. It was an ugly, chaotic mess. I looked at it every morning as I sat on my back porch to pray, sighing heavily at the work that would be involved in making it decent again.

This year, we have a new wall. Our old pine trees are out, including their stumps, and I've dug and expanded a garden, planted sunflowers just above the wall, and tomato plants along it so that, in theory, folks could walk through the alley and help themselves to some. On our first warm day as winter ebbed away, I did some extremely hard work digging out deeply embedded weed roots. Today I found the recent rains made me able to pull other big weeds with hot-knife-through-butter ease.  I've rescued about 75 volunteer tomato plants that grew from last year's rot, as well as about 18 gourd plants, and liberally spread them all around our property and in the community garden. I hope the air around the house will smell of tomatoes in August.


Literally true, every word I've written. Also, metaphor.

That's why I couldn't just yank those volunteer plants out like weeds and toss them away. When new life begs your attention every time you turn around and the ground practically jumps into your shovel and the weeds leap into your hands, I think it is a serious sin against hope not to garden.

Stopping to Take a Breath

Sigh.

Thus far, 2009 has been an amazing year for me. I don't spend a lot of time imagining what the future might be like, but if I had I would not have imagined it to be that way it is. That's not to say I am complaining or disappointed or even remotely sad about it. But in the last little while I have been feeling myself way out on a limb.

Yesterday I found myself thinking if I were just back in my box, life would not feel so risky. Last night as I drove off to the monthly meeting of Steubenville for Liberty I thought about all that had led me to that moment. I thought about my husband at home who was wishing me luck and would be waiting to hear the full report when I got home. I even thought about the phone call I made just before I left which I just did because it seemed to be the best thing to do, despite how much I hate that kind of phone call. As I walked into the Community College to set up for the meeting, my heart was filled with the same kind of prayer that arises in me when I'm in an airplane that is taking off. "Lord, my life is in your hands." Yeah, flying scares me too.

Lately there have been several major ways that I have risked what is deepest in my heart. It's hard to even create the right analogy to speak about the effect this has had, because I don't know exactly. I suppose you could say I am in the process of verifying whether taking one's "talents" and investing them really produces a return or not (a la Mt. 25). I am not anxious to see a certain kind of result. That isn't where my mind is headed. I think mostly of the garden I have planted this summer: when I planted those seeds I didn't have a lot of faith that they would actually do anything. And many of them didn't, because I didn't plant them in the right conditions. My initial bean seeds died. Only about five green onions sprouted. My pea plants grew, but they haven't been getting very good sun and their fruit has not been what you would call abundant. My radishes were mostly too close together and didn't do so well. Now, I'm not trying to draw some analogy between learning gardening skills and these risky steps I've taken in life. While I don't sit around and anticipate the future, neither am I filled with dread that I'll have bad results. I just am very aware that abundant growth is not guaranteed simply because seeds have fallen to the ground and died. At least when those seeds are purchased from the greenhouse and fall into Steubenville soil.

All I know for sure is that I am living far differently than I have ever lived before. It wasn't some program I set myself on, because I do lousy with programs. All I did was try to follow what Fr. Giussani taught me about living. In so doing, the basis on which I try to evaluate what is God's will for me to do has become less my own measure and more a response to reality, to the Church. When I search for the face of Christ, He looks a bit less like my own reflection.

One day when I lived in Osaka, I visited the convent next to the school where I taught (as I did many days). One of the Sisters had written in English on their penboard "God is in reality." I was the only native English speaker to frequent there in those days, so I figured that was meant for me to see. I remember being very upset by that little phrase, and my mind devised all sorts of arguments to call that heresy. The fact was, my entire life was spent trying to avoid reality, and my idea of being in relationship with God was to leave my painful reality to go to be with Him. And things never really got better that way, only worse.

So, here I stand, feeling maybe not completely drained, but completely risked. Thirsty. Longing to be filled. Quemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum ita desiderat anima mea ad te Deus.

An Incarnational Naru Hodo Moment

Just now, after noon Mass, my children and I went for a little stroll through the outdoor stations of the cross. As we strolled I stopped to genuflect in front of each station, quietly repeating the traditional prayer "We adore you O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross You have redeemed the world." It is a gorgeous spring day here, blue sky, sunny, warm temperatures, and the daffodils have poked out of the ground, some with swelling buds. As we walked, I thought of The Secret Garden, which my son and I have just finished reading, and how "Magic" (aka God) makes everything come to life, even that which was long given up for dead. We pulled some dead leaves and branches off the emerging daffodils, eager to help life bloom. And each time I genuflected, I had wafts of thoughts of the Incarnation sweep over me. I thought of my significant conversion at the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass of 1991. I thought of Fr. Giussani and his insistence on Christ present with us in the Church. I thought of Jesus' suffering. About a third of the way through, my son began genuflecting along with me, and about three quarters of the way through, my daughter joined in, complete with complaints when my son was talking to her "when she was trying to pray." We arrived at the end where the Resurrection is proclaimed and beyond that where the rejoicing statue of Mary stands. I realized how much of Catholic theology is missed the more one intellectualizes it and the less one just approaches it through the common sense of a lived human life. What does Mary have to do with Christ crucified?! Isn't she detracting from the salvific work of Christ? Um, hello? She was there... she is His mother... she rejoiced at seeing God's plan fulfilled... she has a thing or two to teach us because SHE LIVED IT! My children had collected little beautiful tidbits as we walked: leaves, stones, sticks. We saw a heart shaped rock lodged at one station, and immediately my son picked up a rock and determined to carve a heart shape into it. As we left the stations area we passed the Nativity scene (also a permanent fixture there on campus). My daughter asked, could she go in the gate and give her gifts to baby Jesus? Sure. She went back a few times to give more gifts. My son was not finished carving his rock, but we made a plan to return tomorrow (with a picnic! I was getting hungry). On the way home we talked a lot about whether Jesus would like those gifts. I assured them both He loves them, not because they gave gifts, but because He loves them. But I also assured Him the gifts they gave or are giving truly make Him very happy. My son asked me several times, "Really?" as he wrestled this into his heart. Yes, really. I noticed in their very natural and unprompted actions the same pattern they use in Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. They see what God does, they make it theirs, and they find a way to say thank you. What could be more beautiful. Before we left, my daughter asked my son to make her a little person out of, um, worm castings. (This is a talent of his!) He did, but as he did, she took part of it and squished it flat. He did not like this one bit. I reminded him he was making it as a gift for her, implying that she was free to do with it what she wanted. I told him I understood his frustration though because the creator of something has an intent for his creation, a way he means for it to be, and sometimes the one to whom it is gifted doesn't accept the creator's intent, and wants to do something else with it. And then I went back to thinking about the Incarnation. Are there other models through which I can think about God's plan for my life? Are there other effective ways besides experience for me to learn things? Are there ways I like better sometimes? Yes. I could make all of life an intellectual endeavor and talk about the ideas of things, as comes naturally to me, and forget about the human, incarnational experience. But if I know my Creator, my Redeemer, why can't love simply prompt me to do things the way He likes to do them? Aha! It isn't a matter of "have to" or "it only works this way." It is a matter of "be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God" (Eph. 5:1-2) It is a matter of love drawing a little girl, this little girl, out of isolation into the playground of life, and thereby healing her.

Who Doesn't Love Mint?

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Composting Makes Me Happy

Among my other hang-ups, I have issues with wasting food. I often eat my children's scraps because I have a hard time throwing things away. Now, I can respect that for some people the repeated "clean up your plate" parental harangues are just the thing that scarred them for life. I have already installed a dietary boomerang into my son, who like me is a type O. He loves to go to the Eat n' Park buffet and sit down (after a "smile" towards Mama) with a plate full of croutons, crackers, cheddar cheese, sunflower seeds and black olives (yep, all avoids for Type O.) So, I have realized I need to back off telling my children what they need to do regarding food and help them hear what their bodies are telling them. (And in the meantime, I'll count how many years it will take for my missteps to wear off.)

So, I've found something that makes me happy. Composting.

Instead of fretting over how half my son's vegetables end up on the floor after dinner, I can at least entrust them to our little compost heap and let those tiny little nutrients decay beneficially. In time, we may even transform our clay slab, uh, I mean garden, into a great growing area.

So the food can decay, instead of familial relationships.

At least over this issue.

The Future of Food

I recently watched the documentary The Future of Food. It is an extended discussion of genetically modified organisms, and I found it fascinating. I would like to spend some time doing a bit of research into these ideas. If anyone has resources that point to strong scientific arguments for the benefit and food safety of GMOs, send 'em my way.

As one of the endorsement blurbs says of this movie, if you eat food, you need to watch this!

Gardeners, Lend Me Your Thumbs (Or at least your ideas!)

We are enjoying a Spring-like day, so we've been outside this afternoon. Ok, so it's only 48 degrees, but the sun is shining! I'm attracted like a moth to a lightbulb.

But, when I venture out my door, I discover that our little side yard is a complete mess. There's something about spring and hope for change that spurs me to wonder whether I could do something different with this little plot of ground which seems to only be effective at gathering dead fall leaves.

I enjoyed all the feedback from my request for interior decorating ideas last spring, so I thought I'd try again with this gardening thing. That is, if you aren't disillusioned by the fact that I still have not painted my living room or purchased drapes. When our shade broke I hung a blanket over the rod. Hey, it's attractive enough. Have I mentioned that I am decorating-challenged?

So, here's what I have to work with:

And yet another view


Here are a few facts to consider. This is on the north side of the house, so it gets some morning sun, but not much. There is supposed to be a border of slate rock around the dirt, but as you can see it has pretty much been destroyed. We have this tenacious ivy that refuses to die, even after numerous attacks. We also have a large bed of hostas that grow closer to the fence. We plan to have the house painted (that's been the plan for the last two years!) and the rotting wood repaired. So complete destruction of the current, motif (if you can call it that) would be very doable.

Can anything pretty grow without lots of sunshine? Can anything kill off ivy? I'd love to do a "natural" look with wildflowers, but I have my doubts. This blog post is the most attention I've given this piece of ground in almost a year, and I'm not likely to give it more anytime soon.

Realistic ideas, anyone?