I harvested my carrots last night, not necessarily because I thought they were completely ready, but because I needed to make room for some young shoots of olugbu, or bitterleaf. I hope they have enough time to take root before winter arrives.
I had been watching those carrot leaves for quite some
time. They looked beautiful, green, full, and healthy. Naturally, I assumed
there must be some equally impressive carrots growing underneath. Well…when I
pulled them from the soil, I quickly realized what was happening above ground
wasn't an accurate representation of what was happening below. My harvest was
much smaller than I expected.
I wondered whether I had harvested them too soon. Would
they have grown bigger if I had left them in the ground until late fall? Maybe.
Maybe not. Either way, there I was, looking at my little carrots and thinking
about all the time I had spent planting, watering, tending, watching, and
waiting. If I measured the whole experience simply by the size of the harvest,
I might conclude that it was not worth it. But that thought did not sit right
with me.
Gardening, for me, has never really been only about the
harvest. Interestingly, I probably give away more of what I grow than I
actually eat myself. There is something else I receive from the garden that is
much harder to measure: time outside in nature; the wonder of placing something
as tiny as a seed into the soil, covering it, and walking away knowing there is
absolutely nothing more I can do at that moment except wait.
Then I return day after day, looking at what appears to be
ordinary dirt and wondering whether anything is happening underneath. One day,
there it is, a tiny green shoot. I do not know why, after all these years of
gardening, that first little shoot still excites me so much. But it does.
Something that looked dry, insignificant, and almost lifeless somehow knew what
to do once it was placed in the right environment.
Then comes the watering, the nurturing, the checking, and
the imagining. You begin looking at those tiny plants and picturing what the
harvest might eventually become. Sometimes your imagination is right. Sometimes
the garden humbles you. There are successes and failures, things that flourish
and things that refuse to cooperate no matter what you do, plants you think are
finished that suddenly surprise you, and beautiful, promising ones that produce
far less than you expected. Somewhere in all of that are the lessons, so many
lessons.
Perhaps that is one
reason I love gardening so much. The garden keeps reminding me that the value
of an experience cannot always be measured by what you have to show for it at
the end. We like big harvests, big results, visible evidence that all the working,
waiting, praying, nurturing, and hoping paid off. But life does not always give
us harvests that match the effort we put in.
Sometimes you work hard and receive much. Sometimes you work just as hard and receive little. And sometimes what you gain during the process turns out to be more valuable than what you were originally trying to produce. Maybe it was patience. Maybe it was knowledge, joy, healing, or learning what not to do next time. Maybe it was simply having something beautiful to tend while life was happening around you.
That doesn't mean disappointment isn't real. I would still
have preferred bigger carrots! But I don’t want disappointment over the size of
a harvest to make me overlook everything the season gave me. Yes, my carrots
were small, but the experience was not.
Now, as I make room in that same soil for my little olugbu
plants, I find myself doing it all over again: planting, nurturing, hoping, and
waiting to see what becomes of them. Perhaps some of the most rewarding things
in life do not come from having the biggest harvest. Sometimes the reward is
found in who we become while tending the garden. And for that, even this little
harvest was worth it.
The carrots were small, but the experience was not. Sometimes the harvest is who we become while tending.
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.