Fragile Green and Rugged Brown

As a child, I spent most of my Saturdays planting, weeding, watering and harvesting a very large vegetable garden -- begrudgingly, of course. I lived on a mini-farm, really. We even had Billy-goats that kept the blackberry bushes from taking over the property and chickens that gave us eggs and meat. And there were even rabbits... I don't want to talk about the rabbits.

This evening, for the first time since I was a child, I weeded my garden and watched it grow -- this time with deep joy. The sun was on my face and neighbors stopped to chat. Though I'm an urban woman at heart, I always feel closer to God when my hands are in the soil; and even closer when I see the first signs of fragile green emerge from rugged brown.

Tonight I decided that Baby will spend many of his childhood Saturdays growing gardens. It does a body and soul good.

Here is my transplanted tomato plant. Look Ma'. Still thriving.

But here is the sprout I'm most proud of.