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"Spring makes its own statement, so loud and clear that the gardener seems to be only one of the instruments, not the composer." ~Geoffrey B. Charlesworth



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Mary-Ellen has that rare gift of making the reader just feel the story as it comes alive. The vegetables, the dirt, and the harvested blessings left as a lagacy from Meg's dad are so vivid and beautiful. Thank you Mary-Ellen!



"The Sharing Garden"
By Mary-Ellen Grisham

The February days were cold, dark, and spare--almost as austere as the sacrifice of the Lenten season of which they were a part. Below the double windows of the dining room, the seedlings were pushing their way up through the dark planting soil. The rows and rows of white cups sat on trays in the wan light. I smiled as I imagined how carefully Dad had filled the cups to the right level, planted the seed, and watered them just enough. I knew that he had planned to have the best garden ever, using plants that had been started the right way. I put my arm around mom's waist as we stood looking at the tiny, delicate plants. She had tears in her eyes, but she assured me that she would try to plant a garden in the spring as a tribute to Dad. He had just passed away on Ash Wednesday, and her feelings were as raw and dreary as the weather.

When I left at the end of the week to go back to the town where I was teaching, I didn't hold out much hope for the fragile seedlings. I promised to come home again at Spring Break; and when I did, Mom was rallying and the seedlings were growing. She had plans to get help from a neighbor or two, and we walked down to the generous gardening area close to a small lake that condominium management had provided. This was the first year for the new garden plots, and I could see Richard already turning over the earth in his plot.

We had known Richard and his wife for years because they attended the same church. Richard waved and joined us immediately, greeting us warmly.

"Glad to see you two good-looking ladies down here," he said with the same shy blush and twinkle in his eye that I remembered so well. Always humorous, always charming, Richard readily promised to prepare the soil of Mom's plot for her. He knew that her garden was a very special one this year and wanted to help in any way he could.

When I returned home for a summer visit, the garden was flourishing. Tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, squash, peppers, carrots, onions and green beans were growing with gusto. Stunned, I stood looking at the healthy plants and knew we were going to have a bumper crop. "Mom," I said, "what's your secret?" She just laughed and said she'd had a little help from her neighbors, but I could see she was very proud of the hearty plants.

Spying Richard hoeing his plot, I yelled, "Richard, what kind of garden magic did you use?" He grinned his shy smile, blushed, and reminded me, "The Lord is blessing us!" I nodded agreement, and Mom and I walked down to look at his equally bountiful garden.

As the time for harvesting drew near, with great reluctance, Mom left to go on the trip she and dad had planned and reserved. She was taking a friend with her, and she left me detailed instructions about the care of the garden. I pulled weeds, watered the plot every evening, and chatted with the friends and neighbors down at the plots. Richard continued to tease and help throughout the warm summer evenings, and soon it was time to start picking the bounty.

The lettuces were huge, and there were six or more ready at once, so I began calling relatives and friends. Then the tomatoes came in thick and fast. Though I could dawdle about picking the rest of the "crops," I knew that I was going to have to give away some. Conscientiously storing, I saved as much as possible for Mom, but I shared with family and many of the condominium residents, including the ever-helpful Richard. Richard, of course, shared his produce with us too, at least the ones that were different from ours.

When Mom returned, she was miffed, if not downright mad! Most of the garden was harvested; and though the refrigerator was stuffed with veggies, she thought I had given away too much. As we pulled onions and bagged the still ripening peppers, I pointed out to her that Dad would have been pleased to know that the produce from his tiny seedlings had been shared with so many people. When I listed the people, she began to smile. "Besides," I pointed out, "You'll have cucumbers and squash to share on into the fall."

She knew, as did I, that it was like Dad's final gift to them all. He was still sharing from the largeness and generosity of his life with those he knew and loved the most. The real clincher was that my brother, a non-veggie meat-eater, relished the garden's bounty, and I'm sure we were all healthier for the sharing of that overwhelming harvest. I think it was the taste of love that made it all so special!



(c)2003 Mary-Ellen Grisham
meginrose@empowering.com

Mary-Ellen is widely published on the Internet and in inspirational newsletters. Currently she is Editor of Eternal Ink, a twice-monthly Christian E-zine. She feels that the contributors and readers of 2theHeart are a special group--the love and sharing sow seeds of joy each week. Her most recent stories are "Heart Cakes and Critter Cards" and "Parting of the Ways."


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The Letter Box:



Dear Karen,
Your story was beautiful written and made me wish I had known Cale. What a joy he was! I want to thank you for also reminding me to cherish every moment of life and with my children. Thank you! God bless, Pat



Dear 2theheart,
Thank you for the story "Cale". I lost my son about his age and this story brought back all the beauty that was his life.... what a touching story this was. Thank you to karen for sharing it. Sincerely, Sandra, OK



Dear Karen,
Tears and kudos to you, My Dear! I also had a friend named Linda, who lost her son, Timmy, at the age of five, following a tonsillectomy. He was my little boy's best friend. I don't believe anything can ever hurt as badly as losing a child, whatever his/her age might be. You wrote a beautiful tribute to Cale and to his family, and to the love you share with your friend. Thank you for reminding me, again, how grateful to God I am every day for a family that is still intact.

Barbara, IL bjlogger@sbcglobal.net

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