Let the rain come
The soil was ready and waiting. Two raised beds, which my husband Steve built for me two years ago when I decided to try my hand at a vegetable garden, were rich in nutrients and dark with organic compost.
The day before, we’d gone to Tract or Supply Co. and picked out t oma t o e s , cucumbers, snap peas and basi l from stands out in front of the store. I chose curly parsley and Steve selected zucchini. We bantered back and forth over how much we would need and what we should plant.
Plants can add up and I’d had a bad experience with squash bugs last summer infesting my green investment. I’ve chosen not to use pesticides or herbicides because one, my garden is small, and most importantly, my family and friends, especially my growing grandchildren, ingesting clean vegetables is the way to their health and wellbeing.
It’s just the two of us now that we’re empty nesters, but I know the garden will be a joy to be in and a welcome treat for my kids and grandkids whenever they visit. It doesn’t get any better than working amongst butterflies and dragonflies. Plus, there’s nothing like picking your salad fixings just before you eat them.
It’s good knowing what goes into growing the plants and even better that I had a hand in simple, yet important work, which will feed us. Produce isn’t getting any cheaper and the last time we were at the grocery store we noticed that some shelves were empty. Taking charge is a really good feeling, too.
The skies this morning are gathering their clouds. Rain’s coming. The air is cool. Steve is in the porch where we like to have our morning coffee, checking emails and catching up on the news.
“It’s supposed to begin in a half hour.”
Looking out the window and down at the terrace where four flats of veggies and a flat of marigolds rest, I wonder if I can get them in before the rain starts. The wall oven clock flashes that it’s a little after 7 a.m. and I swing into action, making a coffee “to go” down to the garden instead. News and emails can wait.
The kitchen takes on the soft gray light emitted by still and pregnant skies which promise a good rain.
I grab a hooded sweatshirt, still in my pajamas, and a pair of garden gloves, before heading out the back door. No time to waste. Down the covered porch steps and then down the stone steps, each built by Steve. A thorny blackberry cane catches my sleeve as I squeeze between flanking humming bird feeders, the vines buzzing softly with bees.
Picking up the flats, I swat a few mosquitos away, they seem to sense the coming rain, too. We each have our missions. Soon the vegetable seedlings are up laying in the clover and grass beside the raised beds.
I move quickly at the urging of the insects sensing my presence and the coming precipitation.
Yanking out the bean poles and repositioning them to the center, I lean in to dig the first couple holes. A strand of hair escapes and I tuck it back forgetting the dirt on my glove. It doesn’t matter, I’m focused on something really simple, yet so beautiful; providing food for us.
In a cherry gold goes, after teasing its roots gently. The earth receives the seedling easily. This is the “candy” of the tomato family. The kids will love popping the sweet, warm spheres into their mouths out in the sunshine. Fresher than ever.
I keep my mind’s eye on the future, though I’m in the moment batting stinging pests from my ears and eyes. My hair swings when I shake them off, a momentary deterrent. Gloves dark with earth, I move with purpose.
Steve has forgone our usual early morning coffee on our four- season porch and meets me where I am. He climbs a stepladder to the sheltering roof he’s finishing over the garage doors. We work together, though apart, the sounds of my trowel scooping pebbled earth and his hammer exacting roofing nails echoes off the trees.
At last the lemon marigolds go in, a splash of yellow joy and natural protective sentries for the veggies. A farmer friend entrusts they’ll keep the animals who would eat the plants at bay. I say a little blessing over the garden just as the rain arrives.
Life is good. Let the garden grow.