O Jesus, You know that in May and June, I fought hard in the Weed Wars. But now, it’s August. OMG, maybe I, like those who rule highway medians, can declare my yard a “native prairie preservation project”?
Jesus, I’m grateful for the consistency of the Your laws that keep our planets, stars and galaxies running, a huge, well-oiled universe.
Image by gene1970 from Pixabay.
But, OMG, do You sometimes toss out small surprises — such as our blackberries outgrowing cherry tomatoes — to remind us You can?
Jesus, You could have made Planet Earth as sleek, plain and efficient as a machine. But, OMG, I’m so glad Your beautiful mind just HAD to create beauty.
O Lord, You know I’ve griped at two rosebushes because they refused to bloom. Lately, I’ve threatened, “Bloom, or I’ll feed you to the compost pile!” Finally, I consulted rose-raising directions … and discovered I’d been subjecting the bushes to feeding famine.
Likewise, OMG, if I go to You, the Expert, and read Your Directions, I might discover that smart nurturing, rather than negativity, will bud beauty in others.
Jesus, thank You for these small pots of begonias. My respiratory bug has delayed planting two big outdoor pots and flowerbeds. Still, OMG, Your luxuriant, little reminders shout that good growing days are ahead!
O Lord, I thank You for volunteer flowers that beautify our yard. Yet, having seeded this flourishing patch BEHIND, not in front of our forsythia bushes, OMG, are You hiding a grin?
And so it begins. The cucumber flood. The tomato avalanche. The squash tsunami. OMG, we give thanks! And … could You remind me where I hid the food processor?
And so it begins: the summertime cucumber flood. The tomato avalanche. The squash tsunami. And, OMG, we give thanks!
O Lord, You invested so much sunshine and rain in this first tomato from my garden. You must have thought it was worth it.
Investing aches, pains and Tylenol in pulling these weeds, I wasn’t sure. …
Until I tasted this fruit? vegetable? of our labors.
Image by congerdesign from Pixabay.
OMG, You were right! As usual.
Gardening addicts. Never leave them alone at a garden center or nursery, where obliging, devious personnel help them take out a second mortgage to buy the last bougainvillea. This, though the tropical lovelies prefer Argentina over Indiana.
Younger junkies fall victim to buying binges after watching HGTV. However, gardening addiction does its worst damage in women of a certain age.
They should know better than to trust this mad urge to nurture. Most spent decades caring for little humans. They’ve repressed memories of endless feedings — and the waterings with which baby sprouts responded. These women dealt daily with mountains of fertilizer. Eventually wising up, they limited the number of nurturees they’d cultivate.
However, spring gardening regenerates the madness. While spouses are playing golf, the women load up with 35 flats of annuals, 37 bags of potting soil and barrels of pansies, adding just one more hanging basket here. Another there. How can they ignore wilted tomato seedlings? With their TLC, the weaklings will flourish.
Addicts.
With symptoms listed below, I hope to alert family and friends of this malady.
Signs of Gardening Addiction
Early Level
Second Level
Third Level
Final Level
I am proud to inform readers, as well as my spouse, that today, I didn’t brag to a single stranger about green beans or zucchini. I bypassed needy tomato seedlings. I kept my regular cart and made a single purchase.
“Only one?” Hubby blinks in disbelief.
“Only one,” I assure him.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Are you a gardening addict?