Have you ever experienced the thrill of gathering one harvest after another after putting so much hard work into a garden? This year, I decided to revamp mine, and every vegetable I bring inside reminds me of everything that happened before the harvest.
It began with clearing the grass from a section of my
backyard. My kiddos (no, my grown young men and lady) helped me clear it. It
was not exactly their idea of fun. Two young adults and one teenager probably
had many other ways they'd preferred to spend the time, but they helped me
anyway.
Once the area was cleared, I covered the ground with
landscape fabric. Then I brought out my Amazon boxes and other cardboard boxes
and put them to work instead of throwing them away. Something that might have
become waste found a new purpose beneath the garden.
Next came the raised beds and the soil. I mixed different
soils together to create the healthy foundation the plants needed. Of course, I
did not forget the bone meal and organic cow-dung manure. By the time the beds
were ready, I had invested quite a bit of time, energy, thought, and money into
what still looked like little more than prepared ground.
Then came the planting, watering, watching, waiting,
weeding, and wondering. For a while, most of the important work was happening
quietly, beneath the soil, inside roots, and in the daily choices to keep
tending what had not yet produced anything I could hold.
So when the early
onions, tomatoes, green peppers, and herbs began coming in, they felt like much
more than food. Each harvest carried the memory of my children helping to clear
the ground, the boxes I saved, the soil I mixed, the manure I added, and every
hour spent preparing and tending the garden.
That may be the special
thrill of multiple harvests. You gather one basket, and then another. Each one
becomes a small return on work that once seemed hidden—and a reminder that
preparation keeps giving long after the hardest part is finished.
A harvest never really begins on harvest day. It begins
when someone looks at an ordinary patch of grass and believes something can
grow there. It begins with clearing, layering, preparing, planting, and
returning to care for the same soil again and again.
So yes, this was a
little more harvest. But there was nothing small about the work beneath it. Or
the joy of finally holding the results in my hands.
A harvest never begins on harvest day. It begins when someone looks at ordinary ground and believes something can grow there.
Garden & Reflections offers a glimpse into the experiences and everyday lessons that shape me beyond the therapy room. These personal reflections are shared thoughtfully while honoring the professional boundaries of the counseling relationship.