Peace in the Garden

It seems too early. It's only late July after all. But the time seems right. I've remarked before that I am thankful to know signs of life even when they are barely visible. I consider it a gift. And now, standing in the midst of my garden, among the lush, green tomato plants I recognize there is also a gift in knowing signs of death. Of end. Of knowing the time has come to pull the tomato plants from my garden, and to call the season done. Even if I'm not ready, it is time. And there can be rejoicing and thanksgiving even as the seemingly vibrant plants are pulled up by the roots.

There still hangs tiny fruit on the plants. Seems hopeful. But, I've watched these fruit grow grotesque simply by not becoming what they are meant to be ... growing not in size but in hardness, never ripening.

The plants on the other hand, would easily fool a passerby. Mighty plants they are, standing head and shoulders above me. They look productive, as though a bounty of fruit should be released daily. But, sadly, what they do instead is absorb all the nutrients of the soil for themselves. Whether the plants themselves actually have what they need to do so or not, they are  not passing the necessary ingredients for life to their fruit. By making a canopy of shade that is beautiful and beckoning to onlooker, it appears the plants have denied the life sustaining elements that would be the fruit's.

As I do when watching for signs of life, I've watched this phenomenon of stagnation in the garden. Every morning and evening I've headed to the backyard with great hope of the turn where I'd see some withering of the plants and some growth and ripening of the fruit. But, no, and there on the day in late July, I knew the truth. And I also understood better the fig plant that did not bear, and the withered branches that were pruned so that the remaining vine could be strong and healthy and produce fruit.

Even in this great disappointment of knowing there shall be no tomatoes, I feel peace. There is peace in the garden, because things are as they should be, even when my hopes are disappearing and my plans are failing. There is a rightness to doing what's hard when the time is right. There is peace in knowing, in watching the cycles and knowing the process. Knowing gives a peace about decisions and direction. Knowing gives a confidence and understanding beyond our own.

I have learned to say that in making decisions, I do what gives me the greatest sense of peace. Because what brings peace is right.