I love my garden. I really do. Not a lot of things I can honestly say that I love outside of my wife and children, and family too. Since that first shovel full of hard earth it has provided me with both challenge and fulfillment, but most of all a bit of hope and distraction.
It is so simple yet so wondrous, it is life, it is abundance, and it is beautiful. It is how I start and finish my day. I go out in the mornings and stare at the earth, looking for new sprouts, I count tomatoes growing on the vines, I study the blossoms, I talk to the trees, I cuss the ants whom circumvent every attempt I’ve made to destroy them.
I’ve put a lot of hours into that little garden plot, but unlike most of my pervious undertakings it’s been a venture I’ve thoroughly enjoyed. It’s lost the label of project and is quickly becoming a lifestyle. I started it almost haphazardly, not as a hobby or for enjoyment, I first approached it as a skill I thought I would have to soon acquire. As my interest grew my garden has grown, I have grown with it. Maybe I have reached a turning in my life, maybe my viewpoints are becoming a little more realistic, but I’ve notice since I started the garden less than a year ago, my perspectives, habits, and mindset are changing. Things that were once unconditional are finding conditions, and I welcome it. I need change.
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