Mother Earth, We Care

It’s January. Seed catalogs are arriving. Sisters are poring over them, anticipating fresh lettuce that would announce the beginning of the produce season, sumptuous red tomatoes—and many of them; green peppers that looked inviting even to those who don’t like them, green beans that would be chopped into 1-2 inch pieces or left whole for various recipes with which to  dress them.

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I recall my family’s gardening efforts.  Through the work of my parents and their eight children, our acre-sized garden would provide food for our summer meals, vegetables for canning and freezing, and summer work for all of us would-be gardeners. In addition to planting, we weeded, watered and picked vegetables. At the edge of the garden were several rows of strawberries. Picking them and enjoying them sugared and enhanced with ice cream opened the door to spring.

By the end of the growing season we all tired of the hot sun, backaches from bending to pull weeds and pick vegetables, and being tied down to gardening rather than summer fun activities. Drudgery became real to us.  So did mishaps such as six-year-old Roger who was assigned to weed the carrots. He mistook the new sprouts for weeds. Dismay followed.

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Several years ago three of us at the monastery wanted to garden. However, none of us had the time or endurance to keep it up after it was planted. Ahah! We found an idea that matched our desire and situation! We would plant prairie flowers.  All we needed to do would be to scatter the seeds, keep them watered, and cheer them on as they grew. And grow they did—and without much attention from us.

Alas, even as sprouts we couldn’t tell the difference between weeds and flowers. Our miniature jungle caught the attention and disdain of the gardeners of our neighboring plots. We heard laments of fear that our seeds would infiltrate their gardens. So out came our hoes to chop down our threatening garden. Soon it had moved from a good idea to a disaster and to a heap of unrealized hopes.

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A few days ago Annie spoke about a few aspects of her gardening. It’s spring so she’s removing the plant remnants of last year’s garden. “I leave them uncollected in the fall so they can provide food for birds during the autumn and winter.” She added that seeds and gardening move her to faith and hope. During her experience of the winter dullness and cold, Annie envisions warmth, blossoms, vegetables and fruits. She also begins to prepare for her spring planting by sprouting seeds that will be transferred to her garden when the sun and warmth allow. She plants in faith, believing that life will come from the tiny seeds as they sprout and produce edible delights. Hope nudges her to look toward the future when she will harvest what she anticipates now.

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Mother Earth offers us many experiences through the sprouting of new life in spring. We can focus our energy on the production and enjoyment of the goods of the earth. We can grow in faith, hope, wonder, respect and a sense of mystery that can give us a context for our year-round journey. Thank you, Mother! We commit ourselves to care for you in all seasons.¹  

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Mary Reuter, OSB

¹ See Laudate Si’: On Care for Our Common Home, encyclical letter by Pope Francis