Villandry

Today I explored the château at Villandry with a friend who is visiting from the States. Actually, we explored half of  France on our way there as the maps on my GPS are slightly outdated! It was worth the trip!

The inside of the château was lovely and well furnished--but alas, no flash photos are permitted so you'll just have to come and see it for yourselves. And as glorious as the château was, the gardens were even more glorious!

They were terraced on three different levels and comprised of herbs, flowers, fruits, and vegetables. 

This isn't just a pretty water feature, it is a working irrigation system!

The Château Villandry is definitely worth a visit!

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Sowing Seeds

Who in the world would plant a garden just days before putting her house on the market, and a mere week before leaving town for most of the summer? Me. I couldn't resist. Planting a garden is pure joy for me. Planting a garden with my Dad is downright sublime!

My Dad has had a garden in every yard he's ever had. He's grown veggies in the rocky Texas dirt, the mushy Oregon mud, and now in the clay-soil of his western Washington home. When I was a kid, I hated doing yard-work, and would never willingly help my Dad in the garden. Now, however, I find nothing more enjoyable than getting my hands in the dirt and working the ground.

Dad and I don't talk too much while we plant--since he taught me everything I know, we go about things the same way and can figure out what the other is doing without having to communicate. But every now and then, like a seedling bursting through the soil, a simple conversation will erupt:

"If you have a garden in France, you'll have to speak a different language to your plants," Dad said, staking out rows for sugar snap peas.

"I do talk to my garden," I mused, somewhat sheepishly as I placed corn seeds in the ground.

"Everyone talks to their garden," Dad said, in almost reverent tones.

I smiled, imagining speaking French to a garden one day. "You know, my kids think that I'm crazy because I talk to the plants in my garden. But I tell them that I'm not crazy until the plants start talking back."

Then, just as comfortably as the conversation began, it ended. And a warm silence took its place. Silence is the perfectest sound in a garden.

So, I sowed seed that I have a slim chance of reaping. Hopefully a new owner of my home will have the joy of the harvest. Actually, that's how it's supposed to work when we sow the seeds of the gospel. The Bible says that one man sows and another man reaps. Perhaps when this garden of veggies is ripe for the picking, I will be off to a harvest of souls. Reaping what I did not sow. In France.

"My food," said Jesus, "is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work. Do you not say, `Four months more and then the harvest'? I tell you, open your eyes and look at the fields! They are ripe for harvest. Even now the reaper draws his wages, even now he harvests the crop for eternal life, so that the sower and the reaper may be glad together. Thus the saying `One sows and another reaps' is true. I sent you to reap what you have not worked for. Others have done the hard work, and you have reaped the benefits of their labor." John 4:35-38

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Regarding the Garden

I am very much a novice gardener; however, I learn new things each year, and my crops have become progressively more plentiful and predictable. The first year David and I attempted a garden, we tilled up the ground in a part of the yard that did not get enough sun. Cold crops, like peas, radishes, and lettuce did okay, but I was hard pressed to get a full grown zucchini, and the corn and green beans completely failed. The next year we moved the garden. By “we” I mean David and my Dad. By “moved the garden” I mean, they cut out eight hundred square feet of sod from the new garden plot and used that sod to fill in the old garden plot. It was a labor of love, for it was I who did not want to have two large tilled up areas in the yard. The new garden was larger and in a much sunnier place. That year we had a bumper corn crop, a steady stream of green beans, and our first experience with the well-known zucchini surplus phenomenon. But the tomatoes were few, and the cucumbers—nonexistent.

I was advised by my sage neighbors that my problem with the tomatoes was that I did not prune the suckers. They explained that there are many branches on a tomato plant that are lush and leafy, but have neither the means nor intention of ever producing any fruit. These unproductive branches steal nutrients and energy from the productive branches of the plant and can reduce overall tomato production. They are called suckers because they suck up food and water without giving anything in return. That was why my very large and healthy-looking tomato plants yielded only a handful of edible tomatoes. The next year I vigilantly pruned my tomato plants, and while they tended to look more haggard and lank overall, their branches were absolutely heavy with tomatoes. Success!

But still plaguing me is the challenge of the cucumber. Even in the sunnier garden location, when I plant cucumbers they never grow. The seeds go in the ground at the right depth and spacing, but nothing ever spouts. I have even planted them a second time in the same season when it seemed the first attempt failed, and still, no sign of germination. Last year I thought I would beat the system and I bought cucumber plants from the Future Farmers of America. When I brought them home, both plants were strong and already sporting blossoms. I carefully transplanted them into my sunny, fertile garden, and watered them well. I had high hopes for those cucumbers. They were completely dead within a week. And no one can tell me why.

I am utterly perplexed by my inability to grow a cucumber. I have asked neighbors where I am going wrong, but they don’t seem to know. I have asked experts in garden shops to no avail. I have even sought out the teacher of the Future Farmers of America, and while he could not solve my problem, he assured me that his wife’s cucumbers were prone to the same fate as mine. At least I’m not alone. I have looked up answers on the Internet, but nothing I find seems to help. It appears that cucumbers are my gardening weakness.

I’ve heard that Amish quilters, famous for their brilliant craftsmanship, put an intentional flaw in every quilt as a reminder that only God is perfect. And it is not God who needs the reminding—it is us, the flawed. While I am fairly certain that I will never have success with cucumbers, maybe I should continue to plant them as an intentional flaw in the patchwork quilt of my garden. I can sometimes have visions of grandeur that belie the reality of my fallen condition. Next time I think too highly of myself, I can just take a walk through the garden and ponder the fact that I no matter how great my accomplishments, I cannot make a cucumber grow. And I will find peace in this simple reminder, for there is great assurance in knowing that God is God, and I am not. He never fails, His perfection is predictable, His excellence can be expected, He is flawless forever, and yet, He cares for me!

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

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Lilacs and Fun Runs

The lilacs that line the North edge of our yard are just now in full bloom, and their fragrance is almost intoxicating. June is late for Lilacs, even in Spokane, but I think I can say with some level of assurance that our long cold winter has (finally) officially ended. Further portends of the onset of summer are the seedlings that have sprouted in our vegetable garden, the increased shedding of our indoor cats, my husband's obsession with his motorcycle, and the promise of another school year coming to an end. Each year, Liberty Elementary has a Fun Run where students and parents may run a two-mile course together, and then enjoy the reward of popsicles on the playground. For the fifth year in a row I had the joy of running with one of my boys. It was a most beautiful 70 degree day, and seeing as Liberty is nestled in the farmlands of Spangle, the race route took us past green wheat fields, frolicking horses, and a handful of mournful looking cows. I was the only parent of a fifth grader to run with a student, or in Chandler's words, "You were the only mom brave enough to run!" I love to be called "brave." What I love even more is an eleven year old son who is gracious enough to run with his mom.

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