Spring has Sprung

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I’m sorry to tell you guys who live up north, but in Texas, spring has sprung. The robins have arrived, the mulberry tree in my front yard has dropped its fruit and the squirrels and birds are fighting over the purple berries. All the neighbor's outdoor cats are hiding under my car, hoping to get lucky—and I’m not talking about that kind of lucky—they’ll kill for a bird or a squirrel--literally. All day I have to listen to the chirping and squeaking noises, and the pathetic meows of the disappointed cats. Not to mention the upset female cats who don't take being ignored very well.


If that’s not bad enough, my entryway tile has the annual purple mulberry stains because son and hubby don’t know how to wipe their feet. My car and mailbox is covered in mulberry-colored bird poo because, obviously, mulberries have lots of fiber. Not that I still don’t love this time of year. I really do.

Oh, there is one other clue that spring is here. My son and hubby planted their garden. They do it almost every year. And to this day, when I see these two men out there working side by side, I remember their first garden. It was so sweet, that I even wrote about it. Below is my piece that was published in Chicken Soup for the Gardener’s Soul years ago, reprinted in the latest edition of 101 of the Best Chicken Soup Stories, and recently picked up by Ideal Magazines.


A Garden So Rich


I watched out the window as they started turning over the soil. Of course, my husband did most of the work while our five-year-old son spent most of his energy fingering through the dirt looking for worms. Still, the sight of the two of them "working" side by side, preparing the ground for a spring garden, brought a smile to my face.
For just a moment I considered joining them. Then I remembered the excitement I'd heard in my son's voice when he announced that Saturday morning, "Me and Daddy are going to plant a garden!"
I sipped my coffee, wondering if joining in on the fun would be interfering in a male-bonding project. Right then I heard my son call out, "Hey dad, bet you can't find a worm this fine.”
"Oh yeah? Look at this one," my husband countered.
I could see the two squirming creatures that dangled from their fingers in some sort of "fine" worm contest. For a second, I wondered how one went about qualifying a fine worm.
Cringing, I made up my mind. This was definitely their project. I'd leave it to them. Besides, it might be more fun to stand back and simply see what grows out of this garden.
I watched as they poked the seeds into the black top soil. They planted tomatoes, squash, and green beans. I watched as they carefully transplanted the tomato plants into the ground. I listened to the spurts of laughter, the dialogue that passed back and forth.
"When will they grow, Daddy?"
"Soon," my husband replied.
"Tonight?"
"Not that soon."
"Tomorrow?" my son asked.
"In a few days. The seeds have to sprout, then grow."
"Then we'll have vegetables?"
"No it takes a while."
"One day?" my son questioned.
"Longer," my husband replied.
"Two days?" his anxious young voice queried.
I saw the smile touch my husband's expression and at that moment I knew I was already seeing the first of many fruits the garden would bring.
My son would learn that some things in life weren't instant. My husband would learn how to better deal with a five-year-old's expectations and endless questions. Patience...what a wonderful fruit to grow.
In the evenings that followed they knelt to the ground and looked for signs of new life. The sight of them, so close and with common goals, warmed my heart and made me happy I'd decided to watch from afar.
More days passed and each afternoon I watched the two of them water their garden. My son always managed to get as wet as the garden and, more times than not, even my husband came in drenched. The laughter that followed them in made the muddy tracks and extra laundry tolerable. Well, almost tolerable.
Finally, the plants appeared. From the distance I enjoyed my son's look of glee, as well as, the look of wonder on my husband's face as he, too, watched our son. And like the tiny plants breaking through the earth, I saw fruit number two appear. Pride...what a wonderful fruit to grow.
The weeks passed; the garden grew. At the first fruit-bearing blossoms, I watched the two men in my life study and examine each plant. My son would ask questions and my husband would do his best to explain.
"Why do they call squash, squash?" the smallest and dirtiest gardener questioned.
"I don't know," came my husband's answer.
"I wonder how many worms live in this garden?" my son asked.
"I don't know," my husband replied.
"A million?"
"Probably," my husband said.
"Can we catch them?" Excitement radiated from his voice.
"I don't think so." My husband chuckled. "But look at this blossom."
"Will it really become a tomato?" Came yet another question.
"It will." My husband smiled.
I smiled, too. For just as plants grow, I knew I was watching a relationship take root--watching cherished moments being framed for future memories.
They continued to water, to weed, and to care for their small garden. And after all the work and effort they proudly produced ten tomatoes, several medium-size squash, and three pots of beans.
One hot afternoon, my husband stared out the window at the wilting plants and asked, "Was it all worth it?"
Our smiles met at the same time. There was no need to answer. Relationships, memories, patience and pride. Who knew a garden could bear so much?


So . . . is spring sprung in your neck of the woods? Do any of you plant gardens? Do you have any special spring memories? Hey, Easter is right around the corner. Any Easter memories to share?
Crime Scene Christie