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The Kitchen Garden
Gardening can save the World! Take a bit
of time here to get your hands dirty and
enjoy the earth and its fruits.
Gardening can save the World! Take a bit
of time here to get your hands dirty and
enjoy the earth and its fruits.
Gardening is our Teacher
Throughout the fall of 1988,
I was called upon now and then
to offer special lessons on “the meaning of life”
to fifth graders
in a local parochial school.
I found it, frankly, a tough assignment.
In the first place,
we don’t always all agree
on what gives meaning
and what does not.
And, in the second place,
it became obvious to me after one or two attempts,
that possibly not every fifth grade kid
had this topic
on the top of his or her mind!
To be honest, it was like teaching your cat to sing:
impossible work for you,
and really annoying for the cat.
I tried this and that
to attempt to illustrate life’s meaning:
talks about love,
exercises on virtue,
field trips to cemeteries
(a poor idea).
Finally, I landed on the idea
of taking my class to visit a local farm.
They were all “city kids”
who didn’t know much about animals,
about where food comes from,
or about how nature works.
A local farmer agreed to be our host,
and off we went.
I’ve always loved walking through the woods and fields
in agricultural areas:
seeing the cattle,
smelling the smells,
actually touching the earth.
The farm we were going to visit was splendid:
chickens,
ducks,
sheep,
big gardens,
a small orchard,
honey bees,
dairy cattle,
hay fields,
a large grove of old oaks,
turn-of-the-century barns,
and a farmer with a quick wit.
We met on the appointed Thursday morning in a light rain.
“Oh shoot,” I thought. We’re doomed.
Everyone’s going to get wet
and no one will see the beauty that I do here.”
But we pushed on.
As my young apprentices,
I encouraged them to ask questions
and explore creation with me.
That morning they were full of wonder,
even in the mist
or more so because of it.
And the farmer was wonderful,
answering them patiently,
urging them to touch the animals,
to look carefully at everything,
and to be in touch with nature.
They asked the names of birds and flowers.
They wondered about what was in the swampy meadow
where we did not go,
and they looked under every wet rock.
The two hours appointed for this visit were almost ending,
as we walked through a damp field of hay,
which had been baled as fodder for the cattle
earlier that season.
It was in that wet field
where one of my students
asked the key question of the day.
“How did you get all these flowers to grow here?”
she asked the farmer.
“Oh honey,” he said, “these aren’t all flowers.
Most of them are weeds.”
She looked up at him, puzzled,
almost hurt,
and asked:
“What makes one thing a weed and another thing a flower?”
I saw him twitch at the question,
and his eyes turned to wonder themselves,
as he carefully said,
“Well, sweetie, a flower is something we want,
but a weed is something we don’t want.”
I recognized in her response to this
that she was on the verge of discovery.
She tottered on the edge of a lesson about life,
not even knowing how profound.
“So,” she began slowly, “a weed is really a flower
but one that’s growing in the wrong place?”
“I guess so,” he replied.
To which she concluded flatly and firmly,
“Then we have to learn to love the weeds,
don’t we?”
Life in a garden
You might not be aware of this at the moment,
but the place in which you’re sitting
as you read this
is actually a garden.
Unless you’re in a rocket heading to the moon,
you’re somewhere on earth.
And the earth is one big garden.
In our moderns times, however,
we often forget this,
or may even have come to stop believing it.
But it’s still true.
Everyone lives near something green,
a flower pot on your windowsill,
a row of trees along the boulevard,
a small garden in the back of the house,
a lawn or park or playing field,
the farms at the edge of your small town,
or for some even in this day and age,
the farm itself.
And we know, that in the bigger sense,
we are all sharing this one earth
and it s fragile air and water and earth.
We live in the midst of an environment
on which we depend,
not just for food,
but for the very air we breathe,
the water we drink,
and the beauty which feeds our souls.
But that’s not all of it.
We humans possess an inborn need
to tend this earth.
We are – all of us in one way or another –
natural gardeners.
And our own sense of well-being,
our sense of happiness,
comes, in part, from being in touch
with whatever part of the earth
is near to us.
This is no small thing.
But it is a thing that is distant
from the experience which many of us have
in our modern, urban lives.
Someone else weeds the carrots we eat.
Someone else feeds the cattle or chickens,
plants the trees and flowers,
cuts the grass or picks up the garbage
on the streets or roadways.
All of this has grown to be quite foreign
to many of us.
We live in a sort of artificial place,
and we consider the soil or ground
in which things are planted
to be “dirt.”
We consider animal waste,
which is recycled as fertilizer,
to be undesirable.
We consider the work of tilling and planting,
of tending and weeding,
of harvesting and preserving,
to be work for those
who cannot do something more lofty.
In our modern age, it’s often left to immigrants.
And even where there are farms,
many times they’ve become nothing more
than factories which raise animals or plants.
The farm workers themselves
often have almost no contact
with the earth itself.
Gardening Can Save the World
A large part of the human search for meaning
and the quest for human happiness
rests, however, on our being in touch with this.
When you plant a garden,
many strong, important elements fall into place.
You get natural exercise as you dig and till,
bend and pull and work the earth.
You get fresh air and breathe deeply
and let the sun and wind touch you.
You get time away from electricity and television,
away from telephones and e-mail.
You get to know the earth itself,
what’s in the soil, under the lawn:
rocks and critters and roots and all.
You get a strong sense of well being
and a sense of accomplishment
when you come to the end of a row
of carefully weeded beans.
You get to learn about plants:
the varieties you plant and tend,
as well as those which volunteer
and are considered weeds.
And yes, you get to work hard:
gardening is hard, physical labor,
but the work also has its benefits
as it builds character
steadfastness,
and muscle mass.
You get fodder for your thoughts,
as you become a partner with these plants,
watching them grow,
waiting in hope for the yield,
befriending them and knowing them.
You get a chance to work out naturally
all that troubles you;
it’s hard to think about going to war
when you’ve got corn to raise.
You get, in the end, a harvest of fresh vegetables
which will be free of additives,
and which will nourish you physically
even as raising them nourished you
spiritually.
You get to know the toads and frogs
who will live in your garden,
the birds who sing there,
and the friends you take to visit there.
Such visits focus you and your friends
on stories of growing things.
You get a lovely natural collection of things
to share with others:
tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and all.
There’s nothing like a gift
which comes from the garden.
You get a new relationship with earth itself,
the earth we so easily pollute and ruin
with such a strong social drive for wealth.
This new relationship with earth
creates a desire to protect it,
to use it wisely,
and to see ourselves as stewards.
Now, of course, not everyone on earth
at this time in history
can plant a garden.
In fact, few can.
But every single one of us can “garden”
the part of the earth on which we live,
and have almost the same outcomes.
Suggestions
Throughout the fall of 1988,
I was called upon now and then
to offer special lessons on “the meaning of life”
to fifth graders
in a local parochial school.
I found it, frankly, a tough assignment.
In the first place,
we don’t always all agree
on what gives meaning
and what does not.
And, in the second place,
it became obvious to me after one or two attempts,
that possibly not every fifth grade kid
had this topic
on the top of his or her mind!
To be honest, it was like teaching your cat to sing:
impossible work for you,
and really annoying for the cat.
I tried this and that
to attempt to illustrate life’s meaning:
talks about love,
exercises on virtue,
field trips to cemeteries
(a poor idea).
Finally, I landed on the idea
of taking my class to visit a local farm.
They were all “city kids”
who didn’t know much about animals,
about where food comes from,
or about how nature works.
A local farmer agreed to be our host,
and off we went.
I’ve always loved walking through the woods and fields
in agricultural areas:
seeing the cattle,
smelling the smells,
actually touching the earth.
The farm we were going to visit was splendid:
chickens,
ducks,
sheep,
big gardens,
a small orchard,
honey bees,
dairy cattle,
hay fields,
a large grove of old oaks,
turn-of-the-century barns,
and a farmer with a quick wit.
We met on the appointed Thursday morning in a light rain.
“Oh shoot,” I thought. We’re doomed.
Everyone’s going to get wet
and no one will see the beauty that I do here.”
But we pushed on.
As my young apprentices,
I encouraged them to ask questions
and explore creation with me.
That morning they were full of wonder,
even in the mist
or more so because of it.
And the farmer was wonderful,
answering them patiently,
urging them to touch the animals,
to look carefully at everything,
and to be in touch with nature.
They asked the names of birds and flowers.
They wondered about what was in the swampy meadow
where we did not go,
and they looked under every wet rock.
The two hours appointed for this visit were almost ending,
as we walked through a damp field of hay,
which had been baled as fodder for the cattle
earlier that season.
It was in that wet field
where one of my students
asked the key question of the day.
“How did you get all these flowers to grow here?”
she asked the farmer.
“Oh honey,” he said, “these aren’t all flowers.
Most of them are weeds.”
She looked up at him, puzzled,
almost hurt,
and asked:
“What makes one thing a weed and another thing a flower?”
I saw him twitch at the question,
and his eyes turned to wonder themselves,
as he carefully said,
“Well, sweetie, a flower is something we want,
but a weed is something we don’t want.”
I recognized in her response to this
that she was on the verge of discovery.
She tottered on the edge of a lesson about life,
not even knowing how profound.
“So,” she began slowly, “a weed is really a flower
but one that’s growing in the wrong place?”
“I guess so,” he replied.
To which she concluded flatly and firmly,
“Then we have to learn to love the weeds,
don’t we?”
Life in a garden
You might not be aware of this at the moment,
but the place in which you’re sitting
as you read this
is actually a garden.
Unless you’re in a rocket heading to the moon,
you’re somewhere on earth.
And the earth is one big garden.
In our moderns times, however,
we often forget this,
or may even have come to stop believing it.
But it’s still true.
Everyone lives near something green,
a flower pot on your windowsill,
a row of trees along the boulevard,
a small garden in the back of the house,
a lawn or park or playing field,
the farms at the edge of your small town,
or for some even in this day and age,
the farm itself.
And we know, that in the bigger sense,
we are all sharing this one earth
and it s fragile air and water and earth.
We live in the midst of an environment
on which we depend,
not just for food,
but for the very air we breathe,
the water we drink,
and the beauty which feeds our souls.
But that’s not all of it.
We humans possess an inborn need
to tend this earth.
We are – all of us in one way or another –
natural gardeners.
And our own sense of well-being,
our sense of happiness,
comes, in part, from being in touch
with whatever part of the earth
is near to us.
This is no small thing.
But it is a thing that is distant
from the experience which many of us have
in our modern, urban lives.
Someone else weeds the carrots we eat.
Someone else feeds the cattle or chickens,
plants the trees and flowers,
cuts the grass or picks up the garbage
on the streets or roadways.
All of this has grown to be quite foreign
to many of us.
We live in a sort of artificial place,
and we consider the soil or ground
in which things are planted
to be “dirt.”
We consider animal waste,
which is recycled as fertilizer,
to be undesirable.
We consider the work of tilling and planting,
of tending and weeding,
of harvesting and preserving,
to be work for those
who cannot do something more lofty.
In our modern age, it’s often left to immigrants.
And even where there are farms,
many times they’ve become nothing more
than factories which raise animals or plants.
The farm workers themselves
often have almost no contact
with the earth itself.
Gardening Can Save the World
A large part of the human search for meaning
and the quest for human happiness
rests, however, on our being in touch with this.
When you plant a garden,
many strong, important elements fall into place.
You get natural exercise as you dig and till,
bend and pull and work the earth.
You get fresh air and breathe deeply
and let the sun and wind touch you.
You get time away from electricity and television,
away from telephones and e-mail.
You get to know the earth itself,
what’s in the soil, under the lawn:
rocks and critters and roots and all.
You get a strong sense of well being
and a sense of accomplishment
when you come to the end of a row
of carefully weeded beans.
You get to learn about plants:
the varieties you plant and tend,
as well as those which volunteer
and are considered weeds.
And yes, you get to work hard:
gardening is hard, physical labor,
but the work also has its benefits
as it builds character
steadfastness,
and muscle mass.
You get fodder for your thoughts,
as you become a partner with these plants,
watching them grow,
waiting in hope for the yield,
befriending them and knowing them.
You get a chance to work out naturally
all that troubles you;
it’s hard to think about going to war
when you’ve got corn to raise.
You get, in the end, a harvest of fresh vegetables
which will be free of additives,
and which will nourish you physically
even as raising them nourished you
spiritually.
You get to know the toads and frogs
who will live in your garden,
the birds who sing there,
and the friends you take to visit there.
Such visits focus you and your friends
on stories of growing things.
You get a lovely natural collection of things
to share with others:
tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and all.
There’s nothing like a gift
which comes from the garden.
You get a new relationship with earth itself,
the earth we so easily pollute and ruin
with such a strong social drive for wealth.
This new relationship with earth
creates a desire to protect it,
to use it wisely,
and to see ourselves as stewards.
Now, of course, not everyone on earth
at this time in history
can plant a garden.
In fact, few can.
But every single one of us can “garden”
the part of the earth on which we live,
and have almost the same outcomes.
Suggestions
- See the earth as your friend
- Get your hands dirty
- Plant something in every season
- Give back for everything you take
- Notice what is growing around you
- Let the earth seep into your bones, your being.
- Consume material things as though you grew them yourself.
| Send us your recipes, tips, gardening stories, suggestions, and ways that you have connected well with the Earth. Click here. |
Stewardship of the Earth
Lectio Divina with Threshold Bible
Study by Steve Binz
Here Stephen Binz takes one of the key issues
of our day and examines it from a biblical
point of view. He invites readers to
experience God's creation as a great gift and a
sacred trust, one that God has lovingly shared
with humanity. He chooses biblical texts that
help readers understand their privilege and
responsibility in caring for the earth and
humbly recognizing their place within it.
Find it here.
Lectio Divina with Threshold Bible
Study by Steve Binz
Here Stephen Binz takes one of the key issues
of our day and examines it from a biblical
point of view. He invites readers to
experience God's creation as a great gift and a
sacred trust, one that God has lovingly shared
with humanity. He chooses biblical texts that
help readers understand their privilege and
responsibility in caring for the earth and
humbly recognizing their place within it.
Find it here.
The original photos & artworks here are all by Mark Hakomaki
