Whine Making Season

I spent the afternoon in the sunshine in my garden. I could hear the soft calling of the turtledoves in the spruce tree that stands by the back gate. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend they were serenading me, as I bent to pick tomatoes, fresh lettuce and a gallon bucket full of strawberries. Then I tried to stand up straight, and my back really protested.

I have to admit that I am weary of tending the garden this year. Thankfully, there is much less to tend, since some of it has been cleaned up. But, I got to thinking, I planted the peas and onions in March, during a warm spell. No wonder I am really tired of it! I am ready for a break.

I'm glad the intensive gardening chores are only for a season. I'm glad I don't have to fight the weeds all year long. And sad to say, I hardly look at the containers full of petunias and geraniums, or the flowerbeds with their last burst of blooms before frost comes in the near future. I did notice a couple pink roses, as I was coming in the back door.

Isn't it ironic, how enthusiastic gardeners are in the spring to get their hands in the dirt, to get the seeds planted into the ground. We can hardly wait for the soil to warm up enough to make things sprout and grow. After a winter of looking at snow and gray landscape, we yearn for green. As Ecclesiastes states it so wisely, there is a time to sow.

Today, I was thinking how much wisdom there is to the seasons, how certain activities are equated with one season, and not with the others. After tending this vegetable garden all spring and summer, and the flower beds, the lawn and everything, I am very relieved that soon the need for this will pass until next year. I am thankful it is the time to harvest and to pick apples, etc.

So, I am determined to stop and smell those two rosebuds by the back door tomorrow morning, to check the last cantalope left to ripen, and to enjoy the butterflies on the zinnias and marigolds.

Oh, did mention that I saved some flower seeds for next spring? When the snow recedes next spring, the air warms and the birds return from the south, I will be ready to create my garden once again; my fingers will itch to plunge into the soil and to place those seeds into the warming ground. And every chance I have, I will walk along the string that marks the rows, and my eyes will seek the first wisp of green piercing the ground, and the connection between the seasons will continue from one year to the next, just as the Master designed it. And after a winter's rest, I will be good to go, again.