In my garden

"I want to grow a watermelon! And a pumpkin! And cucumbers!" Andrew's enthusiasm climbed as he moved his finger across the rows of tiny seed packets in the garden center. "And for Lenna we need peas, and green beans! And corn on the cob! And broccoli!" Rebecca followed dutifully along, her tiny arms stuffed full of the rattling little paper envelopes with pictures of brightly colored plants on the fronts. I am hesitant to invest even a few dollars in vegetable seeds. My mind reels with excuses. The dirt has too much clay. The ants and slugs and squirrels will eat everything. Its too hot to weed and water all summer. I don't know how. We don't have the equipment. The kids don't eat veggies anyway. I think of my neglected house plants and the tiny flat of petunias I killed last week when I never got around to planting them. "Maybe we should go home and talk to daddy about it first, before we buy anything?" I suggest, hoping that as soon as we leave the store he will forget his farmer dreams and move on to playing Batman.

When he doesn't mention it again, I feel relief, quickly followed by guilt. What kind of Mormon housewife am I? Aren't we counseled by church leaders to grow a garden? Aren't home-grown fruits and veggies better for you? Home bottled produce is so much better tasting, and better for you, than canned from the store. With food costs going up, growing your own is a wise investment. Aren't kids more likely to eat what they help grow? I have taken every gardening class ever taught at church, I know what to do. It isn't too hot for everyone else I know. And what a great learning experience for my kids- to plant a seed, nurture it, and watch it grow. To work hard at something and literally harvest your rewards.

I knew I didn't really have a good excuse. The truth was, I just didn't want to do it. I was struggling to keep on top of all my current responsibilities. Wasn't it enough to keep the clothes washed and the floors clean and the little tummies full of healthy food that someone else grew? If I did suddenly come up with that much free time, I would rather spend it doing a hundred other things besides digging in the dirt, pulling weeds, or battling insects in the humidity. I would rater indulge in some other luxury, like taking a shower or eating hot food or playing checkers with my kids.

On the drive home we stopped at a farm stand to buy a bucket of strawberries. Andrew was all grins as he hefted the bucket into the kitchen and began washing his treasures. We were going to make freezer jam- my compromise. We would preserve the fruit, even if we didn't grow it ourselves. I put the baby down for a nap and spent the next hour with my little boy slicing and smashing and mixing and pouring. We hadn't gotten along so well in weeks. He talked to me about his friends, I taught him about the magic of pectin. He thought of all the people he loved and wanted to send a jar of jam to. I thought about how blessed he was to have such a long list.

Sometime during the day, perhaps over peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches, it occurred to me that I already have a garden. I don't till rows of dirt, but I do get my hands and knees dirty. I plants seeds of faith and knowledge and trust. I pull weeds of doubt and sin and discontent. I don't grow plants and harvest fruits and vegetables. I am growing children and family. I am harvesting hope, love, giggles, fun, and wisdom. Instead of jam, I am preserving memories and character and independence. My garden is full and thriving and isn't affected by weather or draught or fire ants. My storehouse of crops won't fill and empty with the seasons, but instead will fill and continue overflowing into eternity.

One day spring will come and I won't have small children to nurture and grow. My garden really will be full of flowers and vegetables. I will grow tomatoes and watermelon and send my children jars of home bottled preserves. Not this year.

This season, I'm growing children!