Gardens and Plans

 

March came in like a lion this year. The weather was cold and rain poured down all night. I sat inside my cozy little book room and chose to focus on the spring that is just around the corner. I ordered flowers in purple, red, yellow, and bright pink and then chose seeds–zinnias, hollyhocks, poppies, and Johnny Jump Ups–to fill the blank spaces in my perennial garden with splashes of color. The Johnny Jump Ups are in memory of my father’s mother, who always had them in her yard. I still remember her stooping down to point them out, telling me what those tiny little purple and yellow flowers were called.

Every year all those who know me learn how much I enjoy my garden. My husband digs holes and lugs big bags of compost around for me. My children patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) listen as I tell them the latest thing I’ve planted, how my rose bush is doing, and what’s blooming today. My rose bush is a continual source of amusement to my family as it causes me the most delight and angst every year.

I have had many gardens over the years. Presently I grow mostly flowers and herbs. In the past, I’ve had a large vegetable garden and potted plants on a fire escape, raised beds with herbs, and a tiny patch with a lavender bush and some annuals. Each garden has taught me lessons about patience, failure, hard work, and delight.

I consider myself blessed to have a lot of room at my house for growing things. I had never attempted a perennial border before, and the learning process has been steep and long. I’ve had spectacular successes and enormous failures. Even after carefully choosing plants and shrubs according to the amount of sunlight and type of soil, I didn’t always account for the variables to found within even a hundred feet of garden beds.

The joy of growing things, of watching seeds and tiny plants shoot up and flourish, of smelling the sweetness of flowers and herbs, and of feeding birds, butterflies, and bees more than makes up for the dead plants and difficulties involved.

Do you have a potted plant, an herb bed, a vegetable garden, or any other growing things at your home? If you do, please share with us what you grow. If you don’t, is a garden something you’ve dreamed of planting? I’d love to hear about your dreams and your plants.

Book Review: Roots and Sky: A Journey Home in Four Seasons by Christie Purifoy

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I finished reading Roots and Sky: A Journey Home in Four Seasons this afternoon and want to run out and shove this book into the hands of all of my friends. Instead, I will tell you all about this wonderful book and know that if you love it even half as much as I did, you will have a new favorite.

As I’ve been reading the book, I’ve been looking at her book suggestions on her blog, listening to some of her podcasts, and thinking, “Here is a kindred spirit.” She writes about many of the books I’ve loved and the thoughts I’ve thought and the truths I believe.  Plus, she celebrates and loves Advent and Christmas even more than I do.

Let me tell you a bit about the book. Christie Purifoy, her husband, and three children (plus one on the way) move into an old farmhouse called Maplehurst in late summer. The narrative follows their first year in the house as they are dreaming dreams, planting gardens, mending broken things, inviting neighbors, and welcoming a new baby.

The memoir is full of truth, beauty, and goodness wrapped up in every day living. Christie meditates on faith and God’s promises, eternity and tomorrow, dirt and tomatoes. Other books I’ve read about homes and gardens were enjoyable, but I think that Roots and Sky hit something deep inside of me because of Christie’s constant reminder of the Lord and His work in her life and in ours. Her metaphors are lovely and get at truths that are often hard to encapsulate.

Here are just a few of the dozens of quotes I underlined:

Our lives are stories built of small moments. Ordinary experiences. It is too easy to forget that our days are adding up to something astonishing. We do not often stop to notice the signs and wonders. The writing on the wall. But some days we do.

Homecoming is a single word, and we use it to describe a single event. But true homecoming requires more time. It seems to be a process rather than a moment. Perhaps we come home the way the earth comes home to the sun. It could be that homecoming is always a return and our understanding of home deepens with each encounter.

I see how each season lies tucked up inside another. How fall’s warm yellow is hidden within summer’s cool green. How even the scented explosion of spring lies sleeping within winter branches that seem brittle with death.

What if gratitude is more about seeing the face of God? Of locking our eyes on his and remembering where our help comes from? Perhaps gratitude is not only a discipline but also a gift, one we are given in special measure just before we pass through the door to suffering.

It reminded me of three books I love all wrapped up in one: The Magic Apple Tree by Susan Hill, The Crosswick Journals by Madeleine L’Engle, and The Country Diary of an English Lady. Christie Purifoy has a new book coming out next month. I can hardly wait to read it.

What books have you read that touch your soul and fill your heart with singing?