DADDY'S GIRL

My garden is a wonder to look upon. With our cooler than normal spring and no rain, I wasn't sure the seeds would even sprout. Today, the tomatoes are tall enough to be tied up and are beginning to bloom. Corn stalks are shooting above the low wall--which means the plants are about two feet tall. I dug around the potatoes--we had our first tiny potatoes for dinner several days ago. There is one tiny yellow squash on a large bush. The green beans are blooming; maybe they'll be ready by the time the rest of the potatoes are. Lettuce, spinach, green onions, cilantro--it's all there in the small plot, in pots, and beneath the avocado tree (blooming too). I don't really have a green thumb--I am merely my daddy's girl.

When I work in my garden I feel a connection with Daddy. He always had a large garden to feed his family. I can remember before entering school, following him down rows, dropping in beans, corn kernels, and okra seed. By the time I was seven or eight, it was my duty to help water the garden--no hoses in those early years, just a bucket and a tin can. Of course, when I was older, I hated the picking, snapping, peeling, chopping and canning of those vegetables. I would rather climb up in my favorite mulberry tree with a pad and pencil to write my stories.

My husband watched me several weeks ago as I dug holes for my seeds, tenderly tucked the potatoe plants into the soil with a basin around each one, and sprinkled lettuce seeds in the shallow row. He didn't say anythng until I had finished and stood back to look at my work. It was then he touched my shoulder and said, "You are your father's daughter, honey."

He couldn't have offered me a more welcome gift.

"The fullness of joy is to behold God in everything." (Julian of Norwich)