I had vegetable and flower gardens when my kids were growing up. Those are some of my favorite memories of being a mom.
A 15′ x15′ plot of the dirt. That’s what my family began with last summer when we joined a community garden.
Hard clay and weeds resided in our garden square. With shovels and pitch forks and hoes, my family worked away, digging and turning and flinging dirt.
Every once and awhile, we’d stop to breathe in the spring air or chat with a fellow gardener or marvel at a baby alpaca as it galloped along the perimeter of the community garden.
And then more digging and turning and flinging dirt.
Soon the plot was ready for planting.
Scooped hands awaited big seeds and tiny seeds and everything in between. Little fingers and mama fingers dropped seeds in the dirt and oh-so-gently covered them. A misting of water for our treasure trove.
And soon they arrived.
Little miracles sprouted, budded, and bloomed…
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