The Hidden Joys of Gardening

I was reluctant to plant my first real garden last year. I knew that the prophet said to do it. And then there was that primary song, and the fact that my Dad had always had a garden and evangelized the practice. I thought of the amount of time involved in gardening—and all the work. And the fact that it would be far easier to simply buy vegetables at the store. I did the math and concluded that the costs involved in getting my garden going that first year would outweigh any economic benefit of the "free" food.

Regardless of my lack of enthusiasm, I determined that I would give it a go and see how it turned out. I bought 20 bags of manure for my 450 square foot area, and with a borrowed tiller worked it into the soil. I dutifully prepared a series of raised rows, and then hooked up a simple watering system. Finally I planted peas and some other vegetables—and waited.

The magic began for me when, two weeks later, the first little sprouts emerged from the top of the rich brown soil. I watched with wonder as the infant plants began to grow, and thought how delicate and vulnerable these little fellows were. Along with the newly minted plants came weeds, and I was indignant that these enemies would invade my garden. I pulled the weeds diligently and continued to do so throughout the duration of the garden.

To my surprise I began to love my little garden and found joy in the cultivation, the watering, the watching—even the weeding. I enjoyed the feeling of the soil, the smells of the plants, and the sight of these delicate creations of God. As time passed I began to notice the multitude of spiritual metaphors in my garden. Seeds of faith. Weeds of sin. Soil of preparation. The law of the harvest. The light of God that grants life to all living things.

I experienced delicious moments with my kids teaching them how a garden works and grows, and seeing the wonder in their eyes as they handled plants and tasted the fruit. These times were infinitely better than anything television could provide. Gardening teaches work and care, cultivation and weeding. In every gardening activity was found a lesson for life.

At the end of the summer there was corn and tomatoes. The times I found myself amidst my garden under the golden sun, smelling the sweet aroma of the tomato leaves and feeling the magnificent corn stalks in my palms and fingers, there was quiet euphoria. A deep joy, hidden from the world. A drugless antidepressant to counter the trials of life. A mini garden of Eden. A composite of sensations impossible to describe yet available to any who would work for the experience.

The ultimate culmination of the joys of gardening lay in the harvest—eating the fruits of my labor. The first taste of the spaghetti sauce made from my own sun-ripened tomatoes (which only an hour before had been on the vine) convinced me beyond any doubt that gardening was good, in every sense of the word. On one occasion I was overcome with the urge to lie down between two rows of my corn which exceeded six feet in height. Lying on my back in my garden bed, I was amazed to look up and behold a beautiful canopy of interwoven corn leaves of green, backdropped by the azure blue of the sky. This to me was nature’s Sistine Chapel ceiling.

And then I realized why the prophet said to plant a garden. It may have something to do with food storage, self reliance, and healthy eating. But I suspect it has even more to do with the effect upon mind, body, spirit and family. Like so many other exhortations, gardening requires a leap of faith—the willingness to put one’s hand to the plow without seeing the ends. Additionally, the gardener is better able to grasp certain gospel doctrines. Jacob 5 takes on new meaning and clarity. One realizes why Adam and Eve were placed in a garden rather than some other type of environment. And the fact that Jesus chose a garden in which to face his most terrible hours is significant. The creation, the fall, and the atonement have been called the three pillars of eternity—and all three involved a garden.