Rummaging about in the barn’s upper level, I came across a forgotten picnic basket. Inside were several dried gourds, leftover from a long-ago crafting project. When I shook one, I heard the rattle of seeds inside.
Seeds! A promise of life! Can’t resist the urge to plant.
I center a four-foot circular wire cage in an open garden bed and nestle seeds, two by two, around its circumference.
Within weeks, tender plants are extending leaves and long tendrils, reaching and clinging to the supporting wire frame. In no time at all it seems, I need to add a second cage as the plants spurt for the sky.
Six weeks later, the vines have obliterated any sign of its wire tower. And still, it continues to grow. One day, I find a vine stretching across open space, reaching for a nearby tree branch. Another time, the vines are creeping across the stump left behind when a tree was cut down.
I peek beneath the leafy foliage and am delighted to spot several gourds in various stages of growth. I look forward to a plentiful harvest—all from a handful of seeds.
As I go about my daily life, I think about all this. I, too, should remember to plant seeds—seeds of kindness and of hope; seeds of acceptance and of encouragement. I don’t have to question the harvest…only remember to do the planting.