NOT MY GARDEN

A gentle rain fell overnight, so the kids and I decided to swing by the community garden after church. We hadn’t stopped by since the beginning of the week.

I was thrilled.

“Look at all the green tomatoes!” I said, parking the car to get a good view. “Wow! There are so many!”

“Mom, calm down,” my teen-aged son said.

“I can’t believe the plants already have fruit! This is amazing,” I said, starting to get out of the car.

“Mom,” my son said. “That’s not our garden.”

He was right. Our plot was to the left of the green tomatoes. We have tiny yellow flowers, but no fruit yet. But we also have no weeds, which were growing alongside the green tomato plants with fruit.

“Why does our garden look so cultivated?” my son asked.

The rain had made the dirt a bright chocolate brown color that contrasted pleasingly well with the green, leafy vegetable plants and the hearty, yellow Marigolds.

“We’re The Green Thumbs,” I reminded him.

Also, someone in our group has been diligently raking our land. Another one of our gardeners planted beans this week and sprinkled super phosphate around our dark tomato plants. Mother Nature did the watering.

“We need to visit more often,” I said, “especially since I didn’t recognize my own garden.”

Maybe we better make a sign, too. Those garden plots are like a set of octuplets. They need bracelets so visitors can tell them apart.

–c

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