A little over a year ago A friend told me she'd received in her last temple session the counsel "Bloom where you are planted." She wasn't certain what it meant, not then nor when I asked her months later. But the idea meant a lot to me, and I've reflected on it a great deal since then. At the time, I wrote in a previous blog what the phrase meant to me: "Do something with what I have already given you, and I will take care
of the rest; I will guide you as you do so and bring forth the good
fruit you desire in your life." Today I ask myself what I think of it now, today. I'm not sure I've done much "blooming" in the time that has passed. But that is not to say I've experienced no growth. Contrary, I feel more confident in my own garden. Only slightly so, but it is there.
This past summer I decided to grow a garden in various sized pots on my apartment's porch. I hadn't attempted it in years, and the squirrels had reaped more of the harvest than I in the years I had tried. But I wanted to try again, so I went to the store, bought some dirt, bought some seeds, bought a few pots. And after I planted those, I dug around in my storage shed and found more pots and seeds and even a partial bag of dirt that appeared to be the approximate age of the tombs of Egypt. This I mixed with new soil, and then examined the seeds I found. Even though it had not been 18 years since I'd last attempted a garden, the seed packets were that old. But I planted them anyway. Long story short: both new and old seeds brought forth fruit in varying degrees, and although I initially only wanted some fresh veggies, I found a few gospel analogies which I've tried to keep in my heart as I traverse this thing called life.
The soil you plant yourself in matters. But the Master Gardener sees life in even the most barren of soils. It might need to be mixed with new soil - new friends, new situations, but there is still potential in it.
Similarly, He can bring to life seeds long dormant and bring forth fruit, given time and patience and energy. We should never say something is "too late" or the time has passed. We don't know what potential still lies in those seeds. I got four tomatoes and three purple beans and one pepper plant (sans fruit) from those seeds nearly two decades old, which might not seem like a bountiful harvest, but since I very nearly didn't plant them, I think there's something to be said there.
A good root system is important. One of my tomato plants shot straight up. And up. But not out; it never grew bushy like tomato plants are supposed to do, and when the first frost did in my plants and I pulled up the dead plants to put everything in storage for the winter, I found unlike the tomato plants which bushed out, the roots never grew much beyond where they were as seedlings. Perhaps, if the growing season in Colorado had been longer, I would've seen more growth; after all, the plant did have yellow blossoms on it before the frost. But unmistakeably, the plants which did the best had a root system to match what was above ground. To me this says that whether or not we see the growth in others, or in ourselves, God sees what is below the surface.
Proper and constant nourishment is important. I didn't spend much on plant food; I figured it was already in the soil. The plants I helped along with more than water simply did better. The plant that did the best was the only one that I bought as a plant rather than started from seed; it had already been cared for and nourished, and produced abundantly. Yet, still, I took it for granted and overwatered and stressed the soil and returned from a vacation to find...
Toadstools. Avoid stressing your life and finding it overrun with toadstools. And do not be overzealous in correcting the problem. In reading up on the causes and cures of toadstools, the best course of action would have been to remove the offending fungus and allow the plant to bounce back on its own, or to gently treat it with a very diluted solution of vinegar and water. Very diluted. In my impatience, in my fear that the toadstools would return, I reversed the proportions of water and vinegar applied to the soil. The toadstools did not return. Neither did the plant. I wonder if we do that with problems in our lives: Get a little too eager to correct the problem, to "fix" the problem - and end up making a bigger mess. Gentleness. Patience. Balance.
Some things have a different value than others, but that doesn't equate to a lesser value. Of the non-edibles I planted, only two bloomed: a dwarf sunflower which I gave to a friend before it bloomed, thinking it would outgrow the space on my porch (turns out I was mistaken, and it would have been fine; but it brought joy to my friend, so it turned out well after all) - and a morning glory which grew one flower which bloomed twice that I am aware of, for only a few hours each time. But it was beautiful. And it was blue. (My friends know the profound significance that is to me.) I couldn't eat it. But I could take a picture of it and the first time I saw it in bloom brought as much joy to my heart as the first tomato or first bean did. The lesson? Maybe we neglect to see the gifts we are given because they aren't the gifts we were expecting.
Finally, enjoy the fruit for what it is, not what it isn't. If I add up the cost of pots and dirt and seeds and water and nurture and care, every bite full of my garden cost around $5. Actually I don't know what it cost. More than buying produce even from the natural food grocery stores.
But oh, so delicious. So splendid, so wonderful to reap your own harvest. Next year I will take what I have learned and try new things and learn new things. Learning about gardening is a work in progress. As is life.
