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The gardens my husband tends are bird- and butterfly-friendly. Sturdy red roses with double blossoms abound next to delicate pink tea roses with only one layer of soft petals. Sweet-smelling white roses bloom, a birthday gift from a 7-year old grandson who is already awed by the beauty of flowers, and the lovely lavender blossoms of a more rare variety beckon bees and butterflies within the wrought iron fence of Jim’s rose garden.
This is but one facet of Jim’s gardens. His industriousness, his love of God’s blooming creations of color and fragrance, along with his tenacity in pulling weeds and the nurturing he provides as he fondly feeds, trims, and prunes have transformed out little corner of the city. Neighbors stop to chat, to admire the clusters of pink or orange or red scattered in the shade of great green oaks on a sunny day. They comment on the tall yellowish-orange cock’s comb, the hanging grape-like clusters of wisteria in the early spring, the blue and purple bundles on the hydrangea bushes in the summer and the tall, thick wisps of feather-like spires of pampas grass later in the season. Jim digs, divides, and gives of his bounty for he believes, as our grandmothers taught us, that flowers and plants are not really ours but are God’s gifts to us, to nurture, to tend, and to share as we share the knowledge of His great love.
While the blooms which blaze in Jim’s garden, and sometimes on our tables inside, nourish our senses, our bodies are also nourished with the tomatoes, eggplant, and peppers both hot and sweet that grow intermingled with the flowering plants or in their own little corner plot.
While I occasionally expend a little effort out in this remarkable place, pulling a few weeds, watering a bit, or sharing my ideas for where the newest plant should be placed, this magnificent elegance is the work of Jim’s hands. It is his garden, although he willingly shares the charm of its sweet aroma and wonderfully diverse colors as we sit on the patio or on a bench strategically placed under a large oak. These are Jim’s gardens.
My own gardens bloom via a different toil. Though I also weed, prune and cultivate, no garden soil gets under my nails, and one has to seek the fruits of my labors which are not so obviously on display. Neighbors do not stop to inquire about the latest blossom, and we neither cook nor eat products of my work. But people sometimes discuss my gardens with me. They seem to enjoy what they find there, and hopefully, growth is evident as my ability to work with the seeds entrusted to my care increases.
For the seeds I tend and nurture are words. My gardens are stories and poems and songs. These are the plots I prune, trim, and weed (or edit), and if I am artful enough, my words will grow into bouquets that will provide enjoyment, delight, and satisfaction.
And these, too, I am willing as my grandmother was to share with others. For while our Lord gave Jim the ability to bring forth a beautiful and useful profusion from seeds and snippets, He provided me, I believe, with the same ability although my seeds and snippets are but words and sentences.
Lach of us, all of us, should enjoy the bounty of our gardens as we sow the seeds our Lord has provided.
With love, from our Back Porch to yours,
Grace