Dirt, Weeds, Sin and my Heart

Upon discovering that the previous renters in my parents house had put in a garden in the large backyard, I decided that this would be the year that I tried my hand at gardening. It was cemented when  my brother's moved in. For the past few months we've been talking about the garden and what we will plant. We've been dreaming of how we will transform both the front and back yards into a landscape that will not only be visually appealing but will also provide us with most of the vegetable we will need for the year.

None of us have really gardened. Ever. As a young girl I would sometimes help my grandma pull weeds in her flower beds. I learned then that you must pull them out at the root and often times the roots go much deeper than you would ever guess simply by looking at the top of the plant. This was, until now, the extent of my gardening experience. 

Last week my brothers and I made a trip to the store to buy the things we would need to begin. We spent a few hundred dollars on seeds, bulbs, soil conditioners, shovels, gloves, rakes and hoses for watering. I was getting quite excited for this endeavor. 

Today, I decided to get out in the garden and continue the process my brother's had started yesterday of pulling out weeds and tilling up the soil. As I was kneeling in the dirt, hacking at hardened soil and thick roots, I began thinking of more than just that literal act of gardening.