As we poked seeds into the little holes we dug with our fingers, an excitement filled my body. Our second garden was taking shape, herbs next to their compatible vegetables instead of separate like the year before, a new bed dedicated to wildflowers by the lone Dogwood tree.
Last year was our first attempt at a garden, and I found fulfillment in the experience. When I’d walk out in the mornings to water the plants already thirsty from the Georgia heat, my mind would dwell on the spiritual. I’d think of the Master Gardener and His precision pruning. I’d think of the circumstances of life beyond my control, the seasons of drought or the times of refreshing rain.
But as I was sitting with dirt creeping in my socks and filling the small spaces between my fingernails and skin, my thoughts weren’t nearly so deep. Nor are they this morning.
Instead, I am an anxious little girl waiting for Christmas to come, wondering what presents I will unwrap in the morning,
wondering if our stockings will be filled to the brim with peppers this year unlike the year before,
wondering if the kids will sneak their gifts before Christmas day arrives.
Do you have a garden? What is the most fulfilling part of the experience for you?