Last night, the rains came.  Not a steady rain, but sporadic bursts… sometimes noisy, enhanced by thunder and lightening, sometimes quietly dropping from the sky.  After a long stretch of dry, sunny weather, the rain is welcome.  I am not thrilled that it will allow the grass to spring back to life, but I am thrilled for the garden.

We have a raised garden bed.  The plot is about 16 feet wide, and 32 feet long.  Not huge, by garden standards, but it is just the right size to manage.  The original garden was not raised, and in the first growing season, we learned that the lower end of the garden sat in a consistently wet spot in the yard.  Given the area selected for the garden seemed to get good sunlight during the day, AND it is close enough for a good watering from the hose when the rains back off, we did not want to move it.  My dear Uncle John is a master gardener (wine maker, fisherman, etc).  He took one look and recommended building a frame around it and bringing it all up a bit.  So we did… and the garden flourished.

Each year, the soil is tilled, fertilized, and tilled again.  This year was no different, and it has left the soil looking rich and dark.  The rain allows the nutrients in the fertilizer to start to dissolve and feed the soil.  It is ready for planting!

I look forward to this time of the year.  Prior to retirement, it was a chore.  A chore I enjoyed, but extra work, nonetheless.  This year, I look at it from a different perspective.

As a young girl, I remember going out to the garden with my Mum, helping with the weeding and scratching up the soil with a hoe to assure the plant roots could get the water they needed.  I remember walking in the garden of my Granny and Papa (Mum’s parents) looking at the tomatoes growing on the vines, seeing the bean stalks climb the poles, and enjoying the time spent with my beloved grandparents. 

I remember harvesting vegetables for the table, or for canning.  Mmmmm… the first new potatoes from the garden, cooked in a cream sauce with fresh peas.  Pickles were made with small cucumbers, just the way my Granny made them with Mum.  Canned vegetables became a reminder of the summer garden in the midst of winter. 

Sure, we have the ability to go to the grocery store or the local farmer’s market for our vegetables.  But there is something fulfilling in growing our own food.  Each step in preparing the garden, nurturing the plants to produce, and reaping the harvest has become a walk through the past.  I was given gifts by those who taught me… conversations shared while picking weeds, family stories told during harvest and canning, and the joy of connecting to my roots through my family in this life-long ritual.

Yes, I will continue to support my local farmers and buy from them the foods I choose not to grow.  I will also honor my past and smile for the gifts I was given in the garden.