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Gardening on Election Day

Today was the first day I had the time to remove my summer plants, till, amend, and prep the soil, and plant for fall / winter. A cold snap is coming and it is supposed to rain the next few days and with work, the timing was perfect. And while I detest the saying “everything happens for a reason,” the term coincidence is not applicable either. I am doing this all on Election Day. How beautiful the thought and hope that God is doing the same thing in America right now.

The holiest of Gardeners, the Creator who breathes life into everything that has being, and how this act I do each season mirrors life, it is time to pull the old out by the root. When removing them, I think of how so much time, money, sweat, and often tears were invested into cultivating some plants, the misery when I know I was wrong in the balance of the soil science, or that I neglected them when they needed me to protect them or have patience with healing what was wrong, and some are just chalked up to a learning experience and not knowing any better. And then there are those plants that are difficult to pull up. They still are producing and are healthy, but ultimately I know that in the future they will die to extreme weather and something more beneficial should be in its place. And lastly there are those that I choose to keep long after the season because I am trying something new and that gardening is a craft and an art. Some may survive until their season again and be even stronger due to their age and strength and being able to withstand whatever the weather or my lack of wisdom throws at them.

Each plant I put in the ground today, I said a prayer. I whispered over it and each person I know that is running this season, for while the world is cynical and jaded about politics, there are those that have stepped up to the plate to give root to and stabilize our democracy. Those that when tended, and watered, and nourished can bring about good fruit. We are living in a time when there are those who do not know what it’s like to have dirt under their nails and they have decimated the harvest or didn’t even plant at all. Some don’t understand what it is like to depend on what we sow each day and if tragedy happens, then one doesn’t eat, or pay the rent, or have light in their homes, if they have a home at all. This season is a unique one. There is a shift happening in our America where the hope of renewal and of a better way is opening our eyes to seek out not only our truth, but to sincerely learn about another’s reality…and do something about it.

I whispered today to each plant and to the worms and to the bacteria in the soil that I can’t see that I appreciate who they are and that even if I cannot be sustained by their fruit, that it is an honor to just experience the beauty and life force of that which is good and holy. And while this may sound a bit too tree-hugger for you, that’s okay. Not everyone has the same theological connection to plants like I do and I just hope and pray that this upcoming season that God will cultivate in me that which needs pruning, and nourishment, and sunshine. I do not have much, however I do use what I have to grow what I can. Not many see the majority of what I do when it comes to my own walk, my own gardening, my own writing, my own prayer, and that’s life.

Are you the shining red apple in HEB that has been glossed over with wax and has no bruises or splotches? Or are you the one that hopefully comes from a long line of heirloom seeds, the one that endures the cold and the heat without shriveling, the one that gives and sustains life because it is organic and the growing of it sustains the earth and feeds what is around it, and it is often the apple that is not perfect, the one that may be inconsistent in color or taste or shape that is the genuine article. This Election Day and this season of planting have hit me in an interesting way this year. I have left room in my garden beds for a few things I plan on getting in the upcoming days, but the last seedling I put in the ground was ironic and I didn’t plan on it other than by judging height and the amount of sun it would need. When I planted the last leek and patted it down and prayed over it, I took the plastic pick and stuck it in the dirt next to it so I can remember what strain it is…and my heart filled with joy when I read it. It said Leeks: American Flag. No matter what happens tonight, may you continue to sow seeds that will produce fruit, even if no one sees the work you put in or the sweat and toil it took to honor God’s creation.

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