Garden Impostor

We planted a garden this year and today I pulled out the first crop. I should be excited about this, but I found out I have a lot to learn about gardening.

In deciding what to plant, we tried to choose vegetables that we enjoy eating. Heavy on the tomatoes and peppers, green beans because I know my mom likes them, a few cucumber and squash plants... I say a few because the last time we planted a garden we ended up with 50 butternut squash that vined all the way across the garden and over the fence on three sides.

I had a very detailed plan in hand when I went to the local nursery. The seeds were in various containers and boxes with labels taped to the sides that gave the growing details. I chose Sugar Star peas, Contender bush beans, Bloomsdale spinach, carefully reading about each variety and trying to decide what would be best for our garden plot. There were assorted measuring cups and spoons strewn around the counter and blank envelopes to label the type and amount of seed inside. I remember thinking how quaint and old-fashioned it felt to measure out a teaspoon of seeds from an old peanut butter jar. Much better than choosing from colorfully labeled, pre-packaged seeds from a rotating display at Walmart. This was the place for real gardeners.

Tonight we were pulling some weeds that popped up after last night's rain when I noticed something strange in our row of Bloomsdale spinach. There were large red roots showing below the leafy green stems.  I just googled Bloomsdale spinach and found a gardening blog that called it a sexy leafy green. Sounds exciting, but the red things I pulled out of the ground did not look sexy to me. After some more internet searching, my suspicions were confirmed. Radishes. I hate radishes. I even took a little taste just to be sure and I had to spit it out. Apparently the longer you leave those little suckers in the ground, the hotter they become. Since I don't know what variety I accidentally planted, I have no idea when they were supposed to be picked.

Here's hoping that the rest of the crops turn out better than this. And if you like radishes, I know where you can get some hot ones...

Thanks, Buzz

Last night, I got a call from an unfamiliar phone number. It was a man's voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello, this is Buzz from Long-Term Care," he said.

"Okay," I answered. His name didn't ring a bell. Immediately I thought that one of our church members had passed away and this was someone on staff at the nursing home calling to inform us.

"I wondered if this would be a good time for me to sing you a song."

"Okay," I answered again, racking my brain for clues about who this man could be.

"Since Easter is coming up, I want to sing 'I Know My Redeemer Lives' for you and your husband."

Then it dawned on me. Jesse and I met him last Sunday while leading a service at an area nursing home. He had asked us to write our names and phone numbers on a scrap of paper and promised to call and sing for us on our birthdays. I thought that sounded sweet, but I didn't think much of it at the time since our birthdays are a few months away.

"You might want to turn on your speakerphone," he suggested. "I'll sing three verses."

Jesse and I stood in the kitchen with the phone resting on the counter listening to Buzz's aged, slightly warbling voice singing,

I know that my Redeemer lives;

What comfort this sweet sentence gives!

He lives, He lives, who once was dead;

He lives, my ever living Head.

After he finished singing, he simply said, "Well, have a good night," and the call was over.

I know next to nothing about this man and he knows very little about us, but a simple phone call and a song made my entire Easter week. I almost forgot that this week is about more than extra worship services and a million additions to my usual to-do list. My Redeemer lives. Thanks for the reminder, Buzz.

A New Henkle

True story - the very same week our daughter Raya finally starts sleeping through the night, we decide to get a puppy. Six months of tending to a crying dependent in the wee hours was not nearly long enough. We thought we would miss out on all that time for pondering and reflecting on life that only comes in the middle of the night, so we traded nighttime feedings for nighttime potty training...

Jesse has been scouring Craigslist and the classified section of the newspaper for months, and after church last Sunday, there it was - an ad for German shepherd pups for sale. We made a phone call and arranged to go see them that same day. It seemed like such an impulse buy, but we have really been talking about getting a dog since we got married 5 1/2 years ago. Well, actually, Jesse has talked about it, and I usually just nod and say we'll get one. When we're ready. I've always been open to the idea of having a pet, but have never actually experienced it first hand. But I knew when Jesse told me that his dog Haylee was literally his best friend growing up that we would get one someday, and that day has arrived.

We named our pup Solomon. The vet asked if we were going to neuter him, and I had to laugh at the thought of him following in the footsteps of his Biblical namesake with 1,000 wives all over Grundy County. That wouldn't earn any points with the neighbors so we'll probably go ahead and have him fixed - or at least fix the holes in the fence in our back yard. I do hope he is wise like King Solomon - or at least smart enough to learn how to pee outside and sit and stay and the other basic things a dog should do. And speaking of peeing outside, I better go let the little guy out before I have to clean up another puddle on the kitchen floor...

Change of Pace

Today as I labored through a few miles on the treadmill, I was struck by the change of pace my life has undergone in the past year. Our treadmill faces south with a view of the church next door where we work and worship. There are no other buildings in sight. I watched seven vehicles pass by our place during my 30 minute run - actually six because I’m pretty sure the navy blue Suburban went by twice, once in each direction. The only sound I heard was the gentle woosh woosh woosh woosh of my feet on the belt and an episode of This American Life in my headphones.

Things have changed quite a bit for us. A little over a year ago, I was finishing my seminary education in Denver, Colorado. I was up to my eyeballs in tests, projects, papers and presentations. My husband and I lived just off of a busy suburban four-lane road and the sound of traffic, sirens, and general city noises could be heard at all hours. I wouldn’t be able to count the number of cars that passed by our apartment in 30 minutes if my life depended on it. Other things have changed, too. A little over a year ago, we worshiped in a small church in a quiet neighborhood in Denver. Many people came in and out of the doors, and with a transient population someone who had attended 5 or 6 years was one of the fixtures in the place. Today, we serve another small church in rural Iowa. Thelma and Gladys have been here 92 and 87 years, respectively, and most have been members since they were born. The congregation celebrated its 125th birthday in 2009. The neighborhood is quiet here, too. Our nearest neighbor is a half mile away and it’s seven miles to the nearest town. I used to worry about things like theology papers and church history exams. Today I was trying to figure out how to clean up the puddle of baby vomit on the carpet. I used to be happy with a workout when I could average a nine minute mile. Today, I was thrilled with my 11-minute pace.

So I have considered starting a blog since the first of January... new year, new writing outlet. But I’ve postponed starting until today because I couldn’t come up with a suitable title for the blog. Sometimes it’s the little things that keep me from moving forward. But today, I ran 3 miles on the treadmill (a small feat for me since giving birth to our daughter a few months ago) and I decided I would get going on this blogging thing. I guess it’s just a good day for a change of pace.