When I was growing up, my parents grew a big garden. We ate fresh tomatoes, squash, and okra. We shelled peas, pickled peppers, and canned tomatoes for the winter.
At some point in my teenage years, they stopped growing the garden. I think the idea was to take a year or so off as we got busier with sports, but there hasn’t been a big garden since. Mom has still grown asparagus or a couple of tomato plants, but nothing like the mounds and rows we used to have.
The funny thing is, the “garden” space is still there. Its borders are still marked by rocks, and Dad keeps it free of weeds. They still refer to that area of dirt as the garden. As in “I left the wheelbarrow by the garden.”
But there is no garden. It’s nothing but a cleared section of dirt.
I can’t decide whether it’s sad or hopeful.
They’ve set aside space with the hope that someday there will be a big garden again. On the other hand, how much time and energy has been spent keeping the space clear without taking the steps to fill it with anything fruitful?
It causes me to consider how much energy I spend protecting and preserving, but not producing any good fruit? Keeping things out, but not letting anything in?