The Rebirth of Cool

This first cool front has ridden Hurricane Ike's wake into South Louisiana. As I write I can see a cool breeze tickling to top of our Ficus tree. In a few weeks time I will have to relocate that tree into our living room, where it will long for warmer days when it can soak up rays of the sun without the window and heater mediating their life-creating exchange.

To the uninitiated eye, my garden beds lie barren. They are nothing more than organized piles of dirt.

Because I know more of what is happening, I see promises of life.


The garden is in transition now. I added lots of organic fertilizer as well as the giant leaves of our Okra plants to the soil, turning the beds by hand last week. Seeds that had fallen from our beautiful Zinnia flowers are popping up through the soil every day and the kids and I have to go extract them every afternoon. On the surface, it is a cruel, life-denying act. However, I see the future of these plants if I had allowed them to grow: they would have taken valuable nutrients from the soil as their green foliage stretched upwards. They would speak of the promise of flowers until the first frost hit, which is when they would wither and die without being able to produce the curly, layered flowers I delighted in this past summer. So, I uproot them now and prepare the soil for a second season of Royal Burgundy Beans. I rotate where I plant them so that the nodules in their roots enrich every garden bed with nitrogen. They add life even if they never produce a single bean.

China Choi seedlings have broken through the soil and are reaching for the heavens with their little leaves while their roots race downward into the rich soil of their pots. In another two weeks I will sow Broccoli Raab and a mix of salad greens to complete our Fall Planting.


Vigen Guroian, a theologian and college professor, says that "what I really love to do --what I get exquisite pleasure from doing-- is to garden. I think that gardening is nearer to godliness than theology." Whether or not you agree with him, I ask you to hear his passion because it resonates so deeply within me. I enjoy an occasional foray into deep theology where I learn about Greek and Hebrew language and culture. However, I always enjoy a journey into the garden. It overwhelms my senses with the feeling of good soil upon my hands, the sharp smell of a tomato plant in my nostrils, and the sight of a blooming flower through my eyes. It is my teacher and from it I learn invaluable lessons. The slow growth of a seedling preaches about God's patience in my life. Turning soil and uprooting seedlings whispers about God's violent uprooting of things in my life that I think hold promise until I later learn that they are growing out of season.

Even the cool breath of Fall and the shortening days speak of the promise of new life. Summer's cruel, sticky grasp on my life is coming to an end. It is almost time to enjoy outdoor meals again, where I delight in the smells of a neighbors freshly cut lawn as much as the food on my plate. It is almost time to pull out the hiking gear and take Elias camping again. Like the Zinnias I yearn to replant in the Spring, I only have to wait through Winter until Deacon is old enough to join us on our weekend excursions to North Louisiana's hills and pine forests.