The rows of carrots and kohlrabi, zucchini and lettuce are relatively straight and promise a meal or two of a refreshing alternative to store-bought veggies. Saskatoon berry bushes sit unobtrusively beside newly planted mint (goodness knows what I'll do with mint, but how can something that smells so remarkable not be planted?) and a pepper plant is contentedly making its' way toward maturity.
Two young apple trees flank the patch, their pink blossoms a reminder of purity and the determination of beauty to make its mark on this planet.
A picture perfect garden patch? Yes, except that I've neglected a few details.
I have, I should mention here, a minor character flaw. I'm not very good at saying "no." My name means Helper of Mankind and it seems that the title, combined with a thorough religious ~~ Mennonite, more specifically ~~ upbringing have conspired to form me into a relentlessly people-pleasing "Yes!" woman.
So, when our neighbors generously offered us a load of top soil from their yard this spring, you can guess that my response was a quick, "That would be wonderful! How Thoughtful! Thank you!" I said this despite the knowledge that it would be the ruin of my tiny backyard patch of green and growing things. I said it knowing that their offer was not one so much of kindness as it was one of convenience (much easier to haul the dirt across the alley than to the dump).
I have been working the soil in our garden for three years, adding peat and compost and heaps of good dirt into the mix. This was to be the weedless year. The year of bounty!
And then I said a hearty "Yes!" to a load of very bad dirt.
Now my poor kohlrabi and onions are being outmaneuvered by hundreds and hundreds of weeds. Tall, spiky, menacing thorns and delicate, creeping, insidious ground covers. Stink weed is thrilled to assault passersby with it's sour stench and the dandelions are putting down some serious roots.
Every few days I go out and hack away at a bit of the devastation, but I'm losing the battle and will likely give up entirely before long.
I really do need to learn how to say no.
June 2007 That bad soil was the ruin of our garden. This spring, the boys and I spent hours digging up, and hauling away, wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of weed-infested earth. My intention in accepting the dirt was good: I care about my neighbors. A lot. I want to help them. I want to make their lives easier. I helped them solve a short term problem (dirt removal) by letting them unload in my back yard.
But the long term effort/cost to us far outweighs the short-lived ease that they enjoyed. I would have felt terribly guilty in not accepting their dirt. I would have wrestled with it for days (How dare you?! You could have helped them!!). As it is, I'm still yanking their weeds out of my soil. I've re-worked that corner, hauled away old mess, and loaded in fresh dirt, and finally given up on the idea of a vegetable garden.
I'm going to practice the words, "No thank you," "No," and "NO WAY!" Because just like the soil in my garden plot had value and potential for producing abundantly, the territory of my heart and mind have value and potential for fruit bearing. I need to tend carefully, deliberately, thoughtfully to the sorts of things I till into the mix. There are times when "no" is the only right answer to a question of how I'll spend my time, my energy, my generosity, my love. The cost of an ill-timed assent can far out-weigh the discomfort of a gentle, "Not this time."
My son, preserve sound judgement and discernment,
do not let them out of your sight;
they will be life for you,
an ornament to grace your neck.
Then you will go on your way in safety,
and your foot will not stumble...
Proverbs 3
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