A Lesson From The Garden

Preston Walters rolled his eyes and sighed heavily as warm air started coming from the air conditioning vents. This always happened when he was in the car line; it was one of the reasons that he hated picking Misty up from school. He shut the air off and pushed down on the electric window buttons. The front, passenger window glided down with ease, but the other three stayed put. He slammed down on the buttons with his fingertips repeatedly, hoping to get some kind of reaction, but the windows didn’t budge.  

 By the time he got to the pick-up point he was soaked with sweat and totally frustrated. Misty saw his car and started jumping up and down, waving excitedly. When the all clear signal was given she ran to the window and shrieked, “Hi Daddy!”

In a sour voice he uttered, “I’m hot. Just get in the car so we can get out of here.”

She opened the door and jumped in, throwing a pink book bag in the floorboard. Totally oblivious of his bad mood, she said, “I like it when you pick me up Daddy.”

Preston looked her way, forced a smile and lied. “So do I Honey. So do I.”

Misty talked non-stop all the way home, going into great detail about every minute of her day. Preston simply drove and half listened, offering an obligatory, “Really?” or, “You don’t say?” during the rare quiet moments. When they reached the house Misty jumped out as soon as the car stopped. Before he could even get out of the car she was bursting through the front door. As he watched her run inside he could hear her small, excited voice, “Mommy, Mommy! Guess what I did today?” Preston sighed and leaned over to pick up the book bag.

Later on that day, while walking to the garden, he relived his drive home with Misty. He didn’t like the way that he felt toward his six year old daughter, but he just couldn’t seem to get over it. Misty was their third child and the only one that wasn’t planned. In fact, she was a total surprise, coming nine years after Tiffany and eleven years after Jack, now a senior in high school. He thought about having one child ready to graduate while another was just starting out. He suddenly felt tired… and very old.

He stopped at the gate and looked out onto the garden. This was his favorite place to be, his silent escape from life. He spent at least thirty minutes a day here pulling weeds, picking off bugs, looking for new growth and just enjoying the time outside. It always helped him get his mind straight. His eyes moved to the end of the garden. There, completely covering the fence was the plant that had become the central point of his backyard getaway.

He had found it about a month before, one little leaf poking out of the ground at the end of the bean row. He had started to pull it up, but it looked like a squash plant, so he left it where it was. He checked it almost daily and the little plant seemed to take on a life of its own. Before long it had put out large green leaves and Preston decided that it was a pumpkin. Then, it started branching out with long, wispy tendrils that reached out and took hold of the fence. One day he looked in on it and a beautiful white flower had opened up. There, attached to the flower, was a small green fruit shaped like an hourglass. He knew then what it was; it was a gourd.

Disappointed, he thought about pulling it up. It was, after all, in the bean row. Besides, you can’t even eat gourds. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He enjoyed watching it too much. So, he left it where it was and every day since then he had rushed out to the garden to check on it. He spent a lot of time manipulating the vines so they would grow up the fence and it had practically covered every square inch of it. He was amazed how something that started out so small could grow so quickly. 

Preston was still admiring the gourd plant when he felt something brush against his leg. He looked down and saw Misty. Her small hands were holding onto the chain link gate and her face was pressed up against it so that one eye was staring through a rusty link. She only said five words, “I like your garden Daddy,” and then she looked up at him and smiled. Then, as quickly as she was there, she was gone.

Preston watched her skip away and a disturbing thought crossed his mind. Misty was, in fact, just like his precious gourd plant. The gourd plant came up unexpectedly; so did Misty. The gourd plant showed up in the wrong row; Misty showed up in the wrong part of his life. He was disappointed when he found out what the gourd plant really was; he was disappointed when he found out his wife was pregnant with Misty.

His heart melted as he thought about Misty. Was he treating this gourd plant better than he was treating his own daughter? How much time had he actually spent with her, talking to her, really listening to what she had to say? Was it possible that he was holding a grudge against her for coming along so late in his life? Was he actually blaming her for some of his marital and financial problems? The more he meditated on it the more he shamefully realized that it was all true.

 He thought a moment and then looked back toward the flowing plant at the end of the garden. He had been so wrong about that plant. In a matter of weeks, with a little care and nurturing, it had become the centerpiece of his garden. What if he would have pulled it up when it was just coming out of the ground? He would have never gotten to watch it grow or see it bloom. He would have missed out on so much.  What was he missing out on with Misty by acting the way he was?

A sound shook him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Misty running across the yard with her arms held straight out to the side of her body. She turned and waved, “Come play with me Daddy.”

Preston looked at his garden, then back at Misty. He could almost hear the gourd plant silently pleading with him to step inside the gate. There was a moment of indecision. Then, somewhere in the back of his mind a distant voice spoke to him, Go play with her.

He spoke out loud, in answer to the voice, “But what about the garden?”

The voice answered back, Are you raising a garden or are you raising a daughter?

The question shocked him and he was still thinking about it when Misty called out to him again, “Come on Daddy, play with me. Please?” She stopped right in front of him, arms still extended, making bubbly airplane noises. Then, she stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his legs and said, “I love it when we play together Daddy.”

Suddenly the garden didn’t look so enticing and he found himself leaning over to hug her back. With a slight tremor in his voice he said, “So do I Honey. So do I.” And this time, he really meant it.