The Vigilant Gardener

Spring is a time of birth and rebirth, when nature wipes the slate clean and gives us a new beginning. Plants draw forth tender new shoots, hyper sensitive to the warm sun, the gentle breeze, the weight of the rain. They grow strong and purposeful in the fertile soil and climate.

Sometimes I feel myself growing that way, new gentle shoots opening to strengthen and beautify what is already there. My garden has had a grand show of tulips and daffodils, stately trees casting graceful shade, colorful verbena growing wild and plentiful, breathtaking rhodedendrons.

Yes, weeds, too. They begin like all the others as small green shoots, needing no tending, no special vitamins or care, no pruning. In a wild garden, the gardener does not know what the shoot will become: plucking it too early may uproot a beautiful rose or azalea. So we water it along with the rest, and watch it grow.

Those we love are drawn similarly into the garden of our heart, rooted deeply with enough sun and fertile room to flourish. The flower beds of our friends and family occasionally are marred by people who vie for nutrients and attention but diminish the garden. It's so hard at first to tell, isn't it, if they'll become a bird of paradise or a ragweed, so we welcome them in and tend to their needs, waiting to see what they become. A vigilant gardener will know when it's time to till the soil and pull up the roots of what doesn't belong.