Every year
I ask, “Is it worth it?”
as my husband
toils with the tiller
to turn up the dirt
that has grown hard and weedy
during the winter.
The time it takes
to prepare the ground
is more than we can spare,
I think. Maybe our efforts
would be better spent elsewhere.
But then I remember:
the way the dirt feels in my hands
as I dig a hole and nestle
a small plant into its new home
in the dirt of our backyard.
How this placing is a promise
to do what it takes to make it grow.
The truth is: I can only do so much.
I can water when the dirt is dry, and
pull weeds that sneak in. But I can’t
make the sun shine or the rain stop.
I can wait. And I can hope.
Is it worth it?
When the first cucumber blossoms,
the answer is yes.
And when the tomato plants show
yellow flowers, then green fruit,
then ripe reds I can almost taste before
they’re picked, the answer is YES!
When I can pluck herbs
from the pots on the porch
to toss into the dinner pan,
the answer is yes.
Even when we have
more than we need,
when I grow weary
at the end of summer
of tending these plants,
the answer is still yes.
Is it worth it?
When the tiller sputters and stops working,
I want to give up, too. And then
a neighbor asks if he can put a
couple of tomato plants in our garden.
I’ll pay, he says, and we shake our heads.
This garden, it’s never been only ours.
It belongs to anyone who asks
and some who don’t.
So, we press on and
do what it takes
to prepare the ground to receive.
Is it worth it?
Is beauty worth it?
Is hope worth it?
I ask myself this, too,
when the world around me
is hard and full of weeds.
Do I dare plant a garden
of love and kindness?
Is it worth it?
Most difficult things are
in the end.