Hands digging in the rocky soil, making a shelter for my seeds to be housed and covered.
My nails are brown and crusted, but I revel in the feeling of it.
The ground makes no promises,
no matter how much work I put into tilling and pulling weeds.
There may be yellow leaves, rotted bottomed tomatoes, and sprouts that never germinated.
The heat may burn up my efforts, or the constant rain could drown out my crops.
The ground makes no promises.
My cucumber plant may yield but one vegetable,
and my rosemary will remain hearty through the frosted winter,
growing into a tall luscious bush after the coming thaw.
But.
My time could yield a multitude of tomatoes that I must give away to my neighbors and friends, otherwise my kitchen would be overrun.
I could produce such a field of chamomile flowers, enough to gift my loved ones the ease of quickly drifting off to sleep.
It is said that the state of a room represents that state of one’s heart.
But I think that the work put into gardening and the unexpected results are a more accurate depiction.
The work, the tending, the preparing of the soil;
planting of seeds, watering, hoping and praying that something will come of it all.
Sometimes, our efforts are rewarded with a bountiful harvest,
others, we find our seedlings snatched up by hungry birds, or the harvest dies in the blink of a surprise frost.
The ground makes no promises.
But the tending, weeding, hours spent bent over in the sun whispering our small hopes into the saplings, into our hearts, is worth the risk. It is worth the effort of trying.
It is worth the time, the prospect of starting something,
even if we may not know the outcome,
We did it. We tried. We learned.
We made a journey and an adventure out of the small starter plants or seeds,
one that revealed the state of our own wellness and livelihood.
The ground makes no promises.
No. But the journey and the learning is worth every moment.
