Thistlewood

I’ve been thinking about gardening lately. We have a little plot on the side of our house, and it is curious as to what thrives and what does not. The scrawny fig tree I shared in a sermon a few years ago is now surprisingly big and lush, but last year only produced
two figs, neither of which ripened. (I’ve included my “Fig Tree” poem at the end of this post.)

Our blueberry bushes are still in the scrawny category. We think we need to move them to a place with more sun. Our neighbor’s blueberry bushes are gigantic and produce so much fruit that they have purposefully decided not to harvest the berries along the sidewalk side of the bushes and instead have left them for passersby to enjoy (our dogs demand a berry tax every time we walk past).

Our parsley, on the other hand, is gigantic and we cannot harvest it fast enough; the same is true with basil. But if you gave me the option of growing parsley well or cilantro well, I’d choose cilantro; yet it refuses to grow at all in our garden and surprisingly, our
mint is short-lived, whereas in other places it has nearly taken over an entire space.

Our garden is located where a pecan tree once stood. Sometimes I wonder if there is something going on with the soil particularly the detritus of the pecan’s rotting root system that lies beneath the surface in a complex network of decaying cells that is
affecting what and how well our garden grows. Perhaps when we tilled the soil, we didn’t reach down deep enough. I asked a friend, though, what our fig tree needs, and he said, “compost, compost, compost!”

Now is the time to start our seedlings in little pots so that we can transplant them into the tilled and composted soil. One of those seedlings is a new ministry team we’re calling, “Outreach.” The first initiative of the team is to cultivate a friendship between
Clairmont Presbyterian Church and The GLOBE Academy. We’d love for you to serve on this team! We have some ideas ~ welcoming signs for the first day of school; water and cookies for parents waiting in carpool, general messaging from “our side” of the parking lot to encourage students as they arrive, and eventually, collaborative initiatives that we do together to serve our neighborhood (a Saturday morning farmer’s market, a fall carnival, food drives for THCA).

What has come before, and even what is rotting (let’s call it “ending”) nourishes what is still to come. I suspect we will return to our campus and grieve the intimacy of the chapel at CTS even as we celebrate the renewed space we will have on our campus
(hopefully sometime in mid-June!) How might our year together at CTS be rich compost for our return to the church? Some things we are planning and planting may flourish; others may need to be moved. Some will need patience; others will need to be infused
with nutrients. My hope and prayer is that you will join us in the garden of ministry the Lord has provided to us with our renewed space and will help nurture, weed, water, and harvest what lies ahead!

---

The Fig Tree

We knew that we could not let the tree
go into winter with its long limbs.

They flail in the wind.
They pull too hard
on the tender roots.

How hard it was to cut them.
to set the blade of pruning shears
To tender green limbs
so magnificently grown
Since planted last Spring.

There was hope in those limbs
in leaves the size of my hand.
It is an act of faith

squeezing clippers around verdant branches.

The break was not clean.
Several attempts were required
to amputate the young limbs completely.

a triad of branches remained,
an iron anchor, a curved bowl
as if a hand were cupped
to hold the winter rains
and withered leaves

It was colder this year than it had been.
Pipes froze, water mains burst,
new plantings from last summer
appeared withered, dead.

Spring is sooner than we were ready.
Pollen green like snow,
blanketing tabletops, windowsills, cars.

Another dip into the 30s
And the fear returned
another threat to the tree

“Wait until May,” our neighbor said
“Don’t give up on it yet,” she entreated.

But it’s been warmer than I’d even wanted for March
If there were dormant life,
We would have seen it by now
some hint breaking through
the grayed wood of the three-pronged trunk

Why do we prune?
We are told it is necessary for the primary
Stalk to grow deep and wide.

The gardener’s fiskars
Are an act of love
Needed for growth

Paring our overextension
Enlivens the trunk
lungs taking broadening breaths

Rejuvenation, the prophet declares,
Is the Lord’s doing.

“For before the harvest, as soon as the bud blossoms
And the flower becomes a ripening grape,
Then He will cut off the sprigs with pruning knives
And remove and cut away the spreading branches.” (add footnote)

“I think it’s dead,” he says,
Nearly every other Friday
As we pass the tree pulling out of the drive

“Wait a little longer.”
I have to hope she’s right.
We would be responsible if it has perished.

Though we did not control the cold
We are the ones who took shear to branch
Dropping every last green leaf
Into the recycling bag

What shall we do, though
Having cut off all signs of life,
waiting for new life to come?
How long ‘til new buds peep?

“Wait a little longer.”

MLFJ 04 01 2023