Why I still garden

I imagine my readers grow weary of seeing one picture after another of my vegetable garden in all its stages, but let me tell you why I go on about it so often:  At this time of my life, at the age of 77, it's the most exciting thing I do.

If you go far enough back in my blog, you will see entries about me riding my horse, Blue (yes, same name as the cat I have now, but for different reasons).  Blue and I had adventures riding down by the river and all along the country roads for miles around.  What a wonderful time that was.  Later on, Cliff and I had a motorcycle and had adventures together, just the two of us... sometimes accompanied by his sister and her husband.  Some rides were a little more adventurous than I would have wanted, but oh, what memories!

These days, adventures are few.  I find my enthusiasm for most activities has worn down, little by little.  Oh, I still have a good and pleasant life.  There are things I like to do:  read, cook meals (most days), bake cookies, go to church on Sundays, walk in the woods.  But even doing things I love, my enthusiasm for most pursuits has waned with time, with one exception:  my yearly garden.

My knees hurt more and more as time passes.  My strength is not half what it used to be, and I'm weary all the time.  But when I limp slowly out to the garden, I have enthusiasm!  I plant the seeds, and have hope they will all germinate and eventually pop up above the ground.  If that planting doesn't make a good showing, I plant more seeds in that same spot, knowing failure isn't always final.

When there's a solid line of tiny plants in each row, I have faith they will live to make a crop, and that excites me.  Later on when tiny blooms appear, I know it won't be long before I see a crop developing on the vines and plants.  And when I notice the first pea-sized green tomato, believe me when I tell you I can almost taste it already... not small and green any more, but sun-warmed, apple-red, ripe, and sweet!

Each spring when I'm ready to start tilling the sweet earth after it thaws, I tell my husband, "This could be my last garden."  

I'll be 78 in July, and I never know when my weariness and leg pain will be enough to make me give up gardening.  For that matter, who knows; my time to leave this earth could come any day.

As I think about it, maybe it's like this:  When I can't play in the dirt any more, that might be the best time to let this old body become one with the dirt.  But for this moment, I still have something to be enthusiastic about, so I look to the future each day.

At least for today, I still have a future on this earth.