My garden was two hopeful raised beds with some found dirt piled in and spread around. My hopes of starting a few Zinnia plants were dashed when the cheap packet of seeds I got at Walmart contained nothing but air. Yeah.
A few tomato plants, extras from a friend, showed up and settled in.
Then a neighbor offered me melon plants.
Melons. All I ever really wanted to grow, nearly impossible to ripen in my old home state in the North.
Yes, I said I’d take them. Even though I knew that transplanting melon plants as mature as these would be a gamble.
I dug them carefully, separated them from their neighbors, tried to keep the roots in tact, and trundled them across the field to my beds. Tucked them into the rough, first-year soil and gave them a good drink. Watch the weather and was thankful for overcast skies while my transplants adjusted.
Would they survive the transition? Would they thrive?
A month goes by. I hear of others already enjoying melons from their gardens. I smile. I don’t mind. My turn is coming.
My melon plants are a bit delayed, but they survived. They bloomed. Set fruit, and are thriving.
We pulled up roots 7 months ago. Hoped to survive the transition, hoped to thrive. The days are long and nights too short, and parts of us are still a bit withered and showing signs of stress. But God’s given us sun, rain, and a place to put down roots, and we are beginning to bloom. I need to celebrate the moments that show our family is settling in–just like I celebrated the yellow blossoms on my melon vines–and trust that the Lord will bring a harvest.
Melons…ah 🙂 I remember we just about lived on them at times when we lived in Minnesota. Corn on the cob and Melons are my favorite american foods. (The healthy ones, that is. I’m seriously craving some donuts from Walmart right now)
Might be a hormonal thing but this post made me cry. Hope shines through the words, thanks 🙂