~Perennials~ by Leaona

I love to garden. Not the straight lined, well defined, high yield sort of gardening. I like to think of myself as an Ignorant Gardener. I don’t know all the names; I just know they’re pretty.

At my job, I have things all lined out. When I get home, I like to let them wander a bit.

If it would really work, I might dance through my yard throwing seeds around like chicken scratch from a brightly colored apron. Just need the right music. But they grow better if buried, so I take the time to dig a hole. Dirt feels good in your toes. Still, there are not many straight lines. I like to spread things out a bit – let them visit with one another. Who knows, maybe they will cross pollinate and I’ll have this wild looking, multi-colored what’s-a-ma-giggy that no one can name, and it can be classed both as fruit AND vegetable. It could happen….

What gets my cold bones through winter is the hope for spring. That is why I love perennials. You plant them once, and they flourish as soon as the weather allows, like old friends visiting from far away. So, once the frost is off the ground, I am out there inspecting every day. First, waiting for the Crocus, then Daffodils, and so on. I don’t even remember where I put them all, so I have to really look everywhere. You never know when something wonderful might pop up and put color and fragrance in the day. Then there are the plants that send out seeds at the end of the fall. They might be coming up somewhere new. In my mind, I feel the warmth of spring as I see the dead cold of winter, and I look forward to the noise the flowers make as they mock the snow still melting off the mountains, in full regalia, shining their faces toward the sun.

I know they will. I have a guarantee. I created the garden. I prepared the soil, planted the seeds, watered, weeded, and generally fussed over them. I love that garden a little every day, with joyful expectation of what will happen. I know something will happen, I’m just not sure when, so I keep my eyes open, and I don’t stop preparing for that moment. Then, when I see something I planted 5 years ago sticking its little head out of the ground again, I carefully brush things out of the way so I can see it closer, and let the joy sink in. I say hello, and compliment its efforts.

And I win, because I planted perennials, and I watched the winter roar by, knowing it had to give way to spring, and then I would have victory over its dreary, barren indifference toward my love of sunshine.

Rom 8:25 – But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance. NKJV



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