The Reality of It All

Sometime in May, I decided that I had enough energy to teach the children about gardening.

We went to the store, picked out packets of seeds, and decided when and where we would plant them.

Sarah and I drew up plans. Matt made me a raised bed in the back yard. We bought special soil. It was going to be great. I told the children to grab their packets of seeds and come watch how I planted the flowers in the front planter. Then we could plant their vegetables. As I was showing them, ever so precisely, how to dig the hole and place the seed in and cover it up, their seeds disappeared magically. Couldn't figure it out. Then came the sprouts of green. "Wow," I said. "I have never seen marigolds come up this fast!"

This is our front planter, where normal people normally put normal flowers.

We have corn. And gourds. And strawberries. Oh, and one flowering marigold.

The children were tossing their seeds into the holes I dug for my flowers.
Perfect.

*Sigh*

Ok, so then we tried again. The children took their leftover seeds to the sand pit in the back yard. They planted thoroughly, meaning everywhere.

I prepared them for no garden. Every day I reminded them, "Children, these probably won't grow. You need good soil. Sand doesn't really nourish the plants properly."

 Here is their garden.

 They actually have ears of corn.

View from the kitchen door, where I am reminded every day of miracles. The sand pit is on the left.

I probably will not earn any awards for best gardening display. The neighbors have not thanked me yet for my brave planter selection. I shrug my shoulders and sigh everytime someone comes to my front door and asks if they saw corn and pumpkins on our porch.

But the harvest and the children who were able to witness the fruit of their labors are enough for me.

Children are unpredictable, but then again, so is God.

Lesson learned.