We had our first frost last Monday. Though this is our first autumn season in our current area — and everything is new — the first frost still came as a bit of a surprise. I had fully expected to have another two weeks before that first layer of frost coated my garden, and the weather report indicated five degrees above freezing.
I suppose the weather had other plans because frost it did.
The frost was light, and within a few hours of daylight, my favorite crew of littles had helped me dig up all the potatoes, pick all the tomatoes, and harvest what was left of the basil. The onions and beets could wait for another day.
It wasn’t much.
Truth be told, our harvest was downright pitiful.
My garden this year is probably the worst garden I have ever had in my 10 years of gardening. Our garden was planted late. We were still settling in after the move a few months earlier, and getting permission for projects from landlords. Then, it took a bit of time and perspiration to get the garden plot set up.
Our now-garden area was a project to say the least. One day it was a pile waist high of brush, branches, fencing wire, rotten hay and plastic twine, old rubber tires, used lumber with nails poking out every direction – and the next (after a full day of work and four trailer loads to the dump) it was a level patch of dirt worth at least the concept of a future garden.
Plants finally made it in the ground the end of June.
And out of 12 (that’s right TWELVE!) tomato plants, I harvested maybe 20 fruits before Monday’s frost.
The remaining tomatoes, which were plentiful if not green as gourds, we picked and have stored away in the pantry, hoping they with ripen up enough to be good for something.
It was a bit of a disheartening harvest.
But as I dug up potatoes with my kids, and watched their excitement as they collected the “tiny baby ones” or found “a whopper”, I was reminded that though our harvest in produce was minimal, we are growing more than just food in our garden. We are growing babies.
Those little people that call me “Mom” are growing and learning lessons – valuable life lessons – with each garden we plant.
We are growing little minds of curiosity and insight. We are growing little hands with crusted dirt on them and brown under their fingernails. We are growing squashed mud through barefoot toes, and eyes that see the beauty of the world around them.
We are growing hard little workers, who help plant, weed, and pick, and then munch on the results of their labors.
We might not have harvested enough food from our garden this year to provide very many meals, but I am grateful for the growth I have witnessed in my three favorite kids this growing season.
In counting my blessings of raising kids and gardens, I would be amiss if I didn’t recognize how spoiled I am to live in a time and place in history where my pitiful garden harvest this year doesn’t change whether my family can eat this winter or not. The blessing it is to live in a place where almost anything can be bought affordably at almost any time of the year is a blessing I see and cherish.
I feel thankful for the chance to garden. For the chance I have to grow my own food. For the opportunity I have to learn and try better each growing season. I am grateful for gardens and babies, and the chance I get to see them both grow. ♥
