Things Have Started Coming In

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Things have started coming in.

It happened quietly.

One tomato warm from the vine. A handful of beans. Three carrots shaped as though they encountered serious difficulties underground and chose to persevere anyway.

And herbs enough to cut without worrying I had taken too much.

For months, the garden has mostly been a collection of small green promises.

Water this.

Tie that up.

Wait.

Try not to take the caterpillars personally.

Most mornings, I went outside and did whatever seemed necessary. I tucked wandering stems back where they belonged. I checked the soil. I moved one bean vine repeatedly toward its trellis while it continued climbing a nearby herb with complete confidence in its own decision.

Maeve carries tomatoes, beans, carrots, and herbs in the fold of her patchwork skirt as she steps in from the green garden.

The garden and I have different ideas about organization.

Then this afternoon, I came inside carrying food in the fold of my skirt.

It was not much. The tomatoes did not require a basket. The beans would make one modest supper. One of the carrots was mostly an elaborate root system with ambitions.

Still, there they were.

Things I could wash.

Things I could chop.

Things that had begun as seeds beneath the soil and were now sitting on my kitchen table, leaving little crumbs of earth on the wood.

There is still plenty growing outside.

The beans are climbing.

The herbs have opinions.

Smokey the gray tabby sits on a wooden chair beside a table of tomatoes, beans, herbs, and a crooked carrot, watching the harvest.

One tomato plant appears to believe September is merely a suggestion and has produced six new flowers out of principle.

The garden is still green. Still busy. Still becoming.

But something has shifted.

I am gathering now as well as tending.

I left today’s little harvest on the table for a while before deciding what to do with it. The afternoon light moved across the tomatoes. The herbs softened slightly at the edges. A thin curl of soil fell from one carrot and remained there, looking important.

So I pulled out a chair and sat down.

Just to look.

The garden had begun giving things back, and I wanted to be there when I noticed.