A 5 Minute Friday Post – write for 5 minutes, unedited. Just words. Here goes –
I see the word: garden. A smile creeps up my face. One of my favorite places in all the world is my garden. Actually, my mother’s garden, full of lush green plants like okra, peppers, broccoli and Cliffie lettuce is in my top 5 of places I love. Eggplant, sweet carrots, potatoes and basket upon basket of tomatoes ranging from chocolate cherries to what I refer to as “big slicers” abound in the fertile ground of my mother’s garden.
I didn’t work much in it as a child – only occasionally to pick the bounty. I mainly watched my mother sweat under a broad straw hat to till, hoe rows, weed, water and watch bare, worked ground, sprout green shoots.
That everyone should see a garden grow. It seems improbable for a blank, marked space to soon be nearly overgrown with such a varied harvest.
Each year, I plan. I say, “I won’t plant so much.” My tiny garden shrinks in embarrassment to the masterpiece I grew up eyeing and eating. My dream is bigger than the space I have to use. By August, it is overgrown, weed infested and in desperate need of a good chopping.
Yet, plant on I will. There are few things so satisfying as dirt beneath my fingernails, aching arms and callused hands, and a bowl full of something good to eat.