Many families spent Memorial Day weekend on a lake, cooking out, eating watermelon, and relaxing. The rest of us, well everybody knows at least one, worked frantically planting our gardens.
After the most welcome rain and ever-warming nighttime temperatures, gardening has begun in earnest. Overnight, the trees have greened, the grass lushed up and will soon be much-appreciated mulch, and my irises are blooming.
Oh, my body aches. Not that type of ache you feel when longing for something, or someone, but a genuine every joint and connecting muscles throbbing. Only a hot bath removes the effects of gravity on the aging body. Who has time for that?
There’s no getting away from the garden if it’s in your DNA. Sure, there are no more 10-12-hour days moving up and down and up and down the rows. In the end, my bend-over is broken.
I take a little more time getting everything in place. There’s a lot of kneeling on the ground when weeding. Eventually, it will be planted and all will end well. (Weather permitting).
The wait is the most difficult because gardeners tend to be competitive. That’s right, we brag about being the first person with radishes in the spring. Or how many peppers we planted.
I said I was going to cut back, but my pepper seeds germinated so vigorously this season, that I ended up with a hundred after I provided a dozen to my sister-in-law’s garden.
Gardeners also compare the number of tomatoes grown, the “special” varieties planted, and the latest tips learned about weed or pest control.
Then, once our gardens are fully stocked, we wait. This is the hardest part.
Every spring I look at those tiny plants in the large high tunnel and think, “I’m a failure. Those plants will never produce. Look at how small they are.”
“Look at that bare ground.” You dare not tread on the bare ground, especially if, like me, you don’t use row markers and can’t determine where you planted that row of beets before the week of deluge.
It’s a wait.
Every morning, you conduct a crop tour, gritting your teeth at how fast the weeds seem to be taking over the garden as you patiently wait for those beets to show their first leaves so you can get in there and eliminate any competition.
By the end of July, I breathe a sigh of relief that everything has germinated, the weeds are minimal, and your body has adapted to garden yoga poses.
Then, in between rows, when I look over my shoulder and see how happy my plants appear without the weeds, I feel peace.
I roll over onto the grass for a rest and listen to the birds, the buzz of winged insects, and the slither of Max the Snake as he scurries to avoid my presence. The sun is on my face, the breeze cools the sweat on my brow, and I close my eyes.
God is in His heaven, and all is right with the world.
INDYchildrendotme 
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