Bug Bites and Good Ground

It's a jungle out there!

Hello from Anita!

Me at St John’s Anglican Church

My homely sheet cake didn’t look like it was up to snuff for the church potluck. Chuck had eaten half the icing and the rest sunk into little craters when I spread it over the warm cake. I quickly browsed my massive collection of cookbooks searching for “How to make icing flowers”, in an attempt to cover the yummy sink holes when the obvious solution hit me. It frustrates my better half to no end when I disappear into the garden right when we’re supposed to be leaving for church.

But today I had a mission.

I rushed outside in search of edible flowers. No pansies to be found, and the delicate squash blossoms had already been claimed by a regiment of tiny ants. But I did have lavender and three little rosebuds — and that cake left for church looking considerably more presentable than when I started.

It’s too early in the season to expect many flowers, especially from the hopeful little seed packets I got so enthusiastic about. The zinnias? Absolutely nothing took hold. Not one little seedling. And yet I found a profusion of pumpkin seedlings sprouting forth in the compost pile apparently from the Thanksgiving display pitched carelessly aside with a satisfying splat.

The carrots, on the other hand, which took over a month to even appear back in January, but finally with much coddling and cheering on, they’re bigger than Chuck’s best cigars. They’re so sweet and bright orange, it’s a delight to pulling up one or two every single day. He suggested that the horses would love them, just to tease me. Though I do toss the green tops over the fence as a horse dessert.

I’m glad I limited myself to one packet of kale seeds. We’re been eating this ridiculously prolific, green leaf with rainbow stalks nearly every day — torn into salads, tossed into smoothies, chopped into fried rice with whatever leftovers are hanging around. I haven’t bought a head of lettuce in weeks. Our neighbor even invited us over to share their harvest of baby lettuce and surplus of eggs they’ve accumulated.

They did not want any kale.

My Texas garden has transformed into a mini Costa Rica (minus the fresh seafood and exotic mountains) with all the rain we’ve had and the hummingbirds are draining their sugar water feeders like miniature diabetics.

Lizards have moved in. Standing back admiring my handiwork one morning, a brilliant green reptile flashed up a tree displaying an orange throat like a peacock.

Turns out he’s probably a Brazilian immigrant — an invasive green anole making himself at home in Texas. He’s no threat to me personally, but he may be crowding out the native Texan species, although there are plenty of them.

We’ve had that conversation around here before.

After that, I’ve been extra wary of snakes lurking in the leaves and bushes, but not too worried thanks to Jaimie, ever on alert when he’s not trampling my seedlings. I learned my lesson last year with a coral snake he found. My little talking dog, alerted me to a nasty looking centipede last week and he’s scented a couple of harmless chicken snakes, too.

Jaimie on porch duty

My worst enemies, however, are the mosquitos, chiggers, and biting flies, resulting in an unsightly collection of unidentified red bumps that have left me looking like I’ve come down with the measles. Instead of spritzing on Chantilly before heading outside, I’m now layering up with Benadryl cream and a terrifying army-green chigger potion that smells like a hardware store. I suit up like I’m heading into battle — shoes, socks, long pants, long sleeves — in ninety-degree Texas heat. Martha Stewart, it is not. But the garden doesn’t care what you look like, and I just want to get my morning dose of Vitamin D!

Jesus spoke in stories that plain people could understand — shepherds and fishermen and farmers who worked with their hands and knew what it meant when the rain didn’t come, or the thorns took over, or a seed just refused to grow. In Mark 4, He eloquently described the condition of our hearts:

“Some seed fell on stony ground, where it did not have much earth… when the sun was up it was scorched, and because it had no root it withered away. And some seed fell among thorns; and the thorns grew up and choked it… But other seed fell on good ground and yielded a crop that sprang up, increased and produced: some thirtyfold, some sixty, and some a hundred.”

— Mark 4:5-8 (NKJV)

I think about this parable, staring at the dirt searching for sprouts wondering what happened to those seeds, plucking weeds instead of flowers. Because honestly? My garden is all four kinds of soil at once. There are patches that seem to swallow every seed I plant and give back nothing. Rocky corners where nothing but thorns takes root. Overgrown spots where the sunflowers I never planted just laugh at me. And then — then — there are those bright orange carrots. That ridiculous healthy kale. Three perfect little rosebuds on a Sunday morning, when I needed them most.

I’m sure I was never meant to be the kind of gardener with tidy rows and a weed-free path. I’m more the “throw out the full packet of seeds ” type and leave your tools in the dirt. But here’s what I’ve noticed after a lifetime of trying — some seeds actually sprout. Often, my prayers get answered, especially when I stop long enough to notice. Sometimes hearts change, especially my own. And what takes hold and grows is worth every bug bite.

With gratefulness and blue rubber boots, bug spray and a shovel full of aged manure, I’ll stick with it at least until July…

Anybody else out in the dirt looking for sprouts?

I’ll bet you know a person to share this with. Let them know you thought of them today.