Tasting

What if I planted a garden and nobody showed up?

The spring air is sweet, the sweat of my brow is salty, and the taste of hopes dashed could be bitter, if I allowed it to be. But I've lived in the forest long enough to know that there are other flavours to be found, if I have the appetite for them.

Even the occasional sour day doesn't get me down completely, because I know there are new surprises leafing out all the time.

Sometimes I pause in my work just to drink in the flavour of the afternoon. It's best when I discover I'm not alone in doing so.

It's wise to look carefully before you taste, of course.

 

But over time it's possible to develop an eye for these things.

And once your palate has cultivated the necessary discernment, well, then you're cooking with fire.

Even so, you can't expect to always receive what you were hungering for. In the Bhagavad Gita it is written, 'Desire not the fruits of your labours'. A gardener needs just such an attitude: the willingness to perform well the work that is before you, regardless of the results.

Last year's squash vines, for example, looked promising but didn't end up bearing substantial fruit.

This year's wild spinach, however, has been surprisingly delicious.

With patience, timing, hard work, and a willingness to accept the unexpected, life can be savoured no matter what comes up.

 

That's the truth about gardening. You do it because it's beautiful, because it tastes of hope. You do the work, and then you watch and pray.