My tomato vines are heavy with juicy, sweet-savory, red orbs and my beets are raising their proud purple shoulders out of the earth. Even my corn silks have dried and are waving in the breeze signalling the cobs are ready for harvest. It is autumn and my garden is bursting with the fruits of a summer’s growth. It’s delicious and overwhelming, as it all comes ready for picking in the same short window.
Our plates have been full of our own produce from the deep pungent flavour of roasted root vegetables to fresh delicate bite of green herbs. These meals nourish us with their vitamins but they also bring on a special satisfaction that comes from nurturing something of value out of bare soil.
When we began this spring, we didn’t know what our harvest would be. We could only dream about how one pound tomatoes could hang safely on our spindly young tomato shoots. But they grew, and thrived, and supported those weighty fruits; one hot summer day and one flush of rainwater, at a time.
I see myself reflected in my garden. I am working bit by bit at my bare soil: watering, giving it sun, and air. Over time my work grows stronger and fuller like the surprising abundance that comes from my garden. My work is colourful and crisp, and it’s earthy and wholesome. I am bringing forth my own gifts to the world one day at a time.