The Hope is in the Tomato

So I've actually been planning to write this particular post for a while. But I never got around to it. In fact, I haven't gotten around to much blogging at all lately. I'm busy these days. And that's a fabulous thing. Even if it is exhausting ;).

So I know I've covered this topic before. But seriously, I'm amazed with the way eternal truths are taught to us in so many ways and all around us, if we just look. And you want to know what else? I think there really isn't anything new under the sun. Because these lessons have been transformed into adages and sayings and morals (like from Aesop's fables). But in gardening, I have gained insights once again. Things I already knew because I've been taught them. But I saw how those same lessons apply to other aspects of life too. And it has been a blessing. And an eye-opener.

First off, let me show you just one (of 14) tomato plants leaden with tomatoes. Can you say exciting?!? Seriously. None are ripe yet. But I'm hopeful. And we are supposed to get really hot again this weekend. And while not really fun for the Nilla in me (or for the rest of me in me ;)), I am excited for what it could mean for my tomatoes.

Also, a couple of other random pictures... Here are my acorn squash plants. They are ginormous. And I have learned one very valuable lesson about them: give them room! Good grief! They totally grew over my strawberries (which are under the netting). I thought I'd given them enough room. Apparently I thought wrong. But, I know for next year.

And in case you don't really know what an acorn squash looks like, I took a picture of one of my bigger ones. I haven't counted how many total I have out there (including the really small bulbs that may not ever amount to much). But I have at least 2 that are this size or bigger. It's hard to tell the size. But I wasn't planning on sticking my hand in there. These things (and the cucumbers) grow little spiny things. And they hurt. Anyway, once these are ready for picking (and I have no idea when that is... they are supposed to turn dark green, I think, unless there are different types...), we cut them in half, pull out the seeds, and put butter and brown sugar in the center and bake them. It's tasty. Kind of like a sweet potato.

But anyway, onto a few lessons. Of a deeper nature. More pensive. One lesson I learned was this: that which is broken can be fixed. And it can end up being so much stronger and better for the break. The picture below is a picture of my biggest, leafiest, branchiest, tomatoiest plant. Yeah, I made up some of those words. But I'm taking liberties ;). But seriously. When I planted this particular plant in the garden, I had zero hope of it even living. And this is because during one particularly windy Sunday, when I had all my seedlings out under the carport to start the hardening process, the wind had snapped the stem of this plant completely. It was broken. I tied it back up to a little beehive stake that I found laying around. But I was crushed. I actually shed tears over that broken plant. Which probably sounds dumb, I know. But I'd put so much work into them. And I'd already lost one that didn't recuperate. So to have another one broken by the wind -- and my carelessness at leaving them outside the whole day while I wasn't there to monitor them -- was hard for me. But I planted it anyway, because it seemed determined to live. I planted it a little deeper than the rest to give the broken stem extra support. But my hopes were not high. And to look at it now? It's amazing. Truly amazing. And so I realized that that lesson applies to life as well. Whether we are broken from sin or wrong choices; or broken because of circumstances beyond our control... It can be fixed. And yes Someone does cry over our breakage. Someone who loves us and wants us to succeed and has worked for us. And we can become stronger for going through the breakage and the fixing. We can produce more fruit. Now, this doesn't mean we should all run out and try to commit sin or find ways to have our life crash around us just to see if we can end up stronger for it. But I do think it has afforded me the realization that broken things -- already broken things -- can be mended. That there is hope. And that, as we struggle through and try our best, we can truly become even better than even we might have imagined.

Lesson two comes from the plant pictured below. This was my runtiest of runt plants. I half considered not planting this one as well. But as an afterthought, I squeezed it in next to what is now "big leafy" above. Like literally, there really wasn't room for this plant. But I figured, "Eh, it's not going to grow anyway, so it won't matter." It was so small for so long, in fact, that I stepped on it twice when I was out there hoeing. Which gave me even less hope for that plant. But it kept surviving. And it now has tomatoes on it. And I thought that I shouldn't have been so quick to disregard this little run of a plant as something that not only wouldn't produce, but probably wouldn't even grow. Some plants (and people) are fighters. There's always room for hope and for believing in someone or something. Even when it seems, to quote The Princess Bride (since it's come up numerous times this week) "inconceivable!"

And so I guess, as I wrote these two lessons, one thing stuck out in both cases. I used the word hope. And so I guess my garden -- my tomato plants in particular -- have taught me that there is always reason to hope. There were many times along this gardening journey -- my first -- when I doubted I would see anything for all my labors. And I don't know about you, but I find that a lot of times in life, I doubt I will see any reward for my labors. I'm not perfect. Not by a long shot. But I try. Some days I do better than others. But I do try. And some days it seems like I'm trying for nothing. But there is reason to hope. And while the fruit (and proof) may not come in one season, as it does with gardening, it will come. I just have to be patient (ugh, there's that "p" word again...). And have hope. Because broken things can be mended and made better than I ever imagined. And the little guys -- well, they can come out on top too ;).