I have said, more than once, that we were silly for even putting in a garden this year. But when we start pouring over catalogs in January and start sprouting our seeds in the basement in February and March, by May, we are already too invested emotionally with the vegetables and flowers to easily call it quits. But with all that we have going on, and for as difficult as it is for James to do things he easily did B.C. (before cancer), some days it feels more like an added burden than a blessing.

This weekend was perfect gardening weather, however. I’m not sure we even quite hit 70 degrees, which made weeding a much more pleasant experience than it is later in the season. While we felt like we just finished getting the garden in, the weeds had clearly not taken notice that other parts of the property needed our attention and had grown exponentially in that short amount of time. I didn’t have just one or two beds to weed, they ALL needed it. In addition, I still hadn’t finished putting down the mulch, so I knew that I could easily spend both weekend days out there and still not finish.

I set a goal to get all the long beds weeded on Saturday. There are 13 such beds, each probably 10-12 feet long, so it was a hefty goal. I started with the tomatoes, and inching myself down each row, I slowly made progress and could see the fruits of my labor. By the time I reached the last long row, however, I was long since out of steam and was ready to be done. To make matters worse, the last row was carrots, which is, in my opinion, the worst to weed. I mean, the WORST. Carrots have such delicate little sprouts that come up and the weeds like to root right against those sprouts and it requires such patience and delicacy to get the row weeded without pulling up the carrots as well. Just looking at the row made my head hurt, and by this point, my back was aching, my hands and fingers were sore and I was really tired of scooching through the mulch.

As I started weeding, however, I realized that for all the reasons maybe we should have abandoned the garden, I could list just as many for why I’m glad we didn’t. The garden, especially when school is out, is my refuge. I love being out there in the cool mornings when dew is still wet on the plants. I love seeing the growth of the plants each time I go, and I find myself talking to them and celebrating their milestones as if they were living beings (What? In a way they are!) So as I carefully and patiently weeded the carrots, I thought about what blessings the garden holds for us each year. I thought about how we planted the strawberries so that the row right next to the main walkway was the “everbearing” variety, which gives us snacks all summer long. Cherry tomatoes, likewise, are positioned at the end of the row so we can easily grab a handful any time we just happen to be passing by. The wisteria climbing up the arbor was a Mother’s Day gift from James last year and it is full of blooms already, eagerly climbing and growing. So far, the villainous creatures that somehow get in to the garden haven’t destroyed the peas or eaten the zucchini sprouts, definitely miraculous. Flowers that I chose during snowstorms last winter are starting to bloom already, with bees and butterflies enjoying the blossoms as much as I am.

Just like the row of carrots, I realized that there are always blessings around, sometimes they are just really difficult to see. Looking down the row, it’s hard to imagine there is anything worthwhile growing here, even from directly overhead, I have to train my eyes to spot the variations of a carrot leaf over the weeds around it, and then I have to be patient, carefully removing all the things that are not carrots – all the things that will not bear fruit – so the carrots can grow.

It’s the same with blessings. I’m having such a hard time seeing them or feeling them lately. Even when I am desperately trying to find them in our life, I struggle. Everything feels like weeds, choking the joy and the life out of us. But, if I very slowly, pick it apart, if I take the time to slowly remove all the things that are not bearing fruit – I start to see the things that are.

James might not be able to do all the things he once could, but he is still here and he is still wickedly funny and he still loves me deeply. We might cry – gut-wrenchingly sob – more days than not, but we also laugh and smile and enjoy all that is around us. We don’t have too many indicators that things are going well, but we realize we have amazing doctors and we have an amazing network of friends and family and strangers praying for us. We may not know how long this will last, but we have today. We have this moment. We have right now.

So, I will sit, with my rear on itchy mulch for as long as it takes, to slowly but surely pull every weed so that my humble row of carrots might grow. And I will dig deep within myself to find the patience and the vision to see the joys and blessings that surround us now – and always will be around us – and I will do whatever I can to help those blessings grow.