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Just Another Miracle

I often find myself using the word “miraculous” when I talk about gardening. There isn’t another adjective that adequately captures the magic of something from nothing. When eight foot plants bearing shiny, bright tomatoes start as scrawny little shoots . . . what else can you call it? How else can you refer to the incredible processes that happen beneath the soil to build and feed root structure? Does anything other than “miraculous” cover the span of a bee's work? 

But perhaps there is nothing more magical . . . divine . . . otherworldly . . . perfect than the beginning of it all. In the quiet still of winter as the northern landscape sleeps beneath the chill, life begins. Each morning I slip out of bed bundled against the morning cold and make my way to the “greenhouse.” (AKA the shelves that take over our living room loaded with lights, heat mats, and rows and rows of trays filled with dirt.)

A ridiculous grin involuntarily takes over my face as I peek under the covered domes and check for that first sign of growth. Every day new shoots spring up out of the dirt, their proud little green leaves reaching hungrily for the light. And isn’t it just inspiring? These tiny granules that we poke into the dirt and deign to water supply everything that is needed to bear fruit for us in a few months. In a matter of days the roots spread out, reaching even beyond the cell of dirt holding the original seed. Their tiny stems stretch beyond the light source. The tiny plants sprout new leaves from nowhere. Life exploding into being. 

And my hope: may this never, ever get old. May I allow myself to be amazed by this miracle each and every time. And may this sense of the incredible imbed itself in each and every encounter going forward – in every dinner party, brunch bash, farm gathering, etc. In every celebration, may this little miracle work its way through the moment.

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