Courtesy of a Generous Rain

Some days I wonder if I have the faith to farm.

It takes faith to believe that tiny, delicate seeds put in the ground are actually going to grow into radishes. It takes faith to believe the rain will fall at the right time and bugs won't destroy everything and more faith that our organic approach will even deter them. It takes yet more faith to believe the mulch layer isn't too acidic and the baby tomato starts we yanked from the greenhouse won't fall over and die at the prospect of living outside.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for but not yet seen, says Hebrews.

I remind myself of that daily when I stare at my beds waiting for new things to sprout. Aren't we all waiting for new things to sprout? Really?

Nothing sprouts without rain and despite a wet winter, the drought topic has been creeping into casual conversation around town. But yesterday it rained hard and it galvanized this gardener's faith in a much-needed way.

On a physical level, 68 degrees and raining couldn't be better for vegetables. The soil is warm and wet, the wind is calm - things can't help but grow well, like weeds. So I'm grateful for the approximately 2" that has fallen since yesterday. 

Despite the drizzle, I took 24 tomato babies out of the greenhouse and planted them in their beds. Ty Wolosin - an organic growing neighbor friend - said don't kid yourself, April15th - no sooner. 


Late frost and wind are a topic of great paranoia to Texas gardeners, so I've been agonizing over this. Consider taking your kindergartener to New York City and turning him/her loose in Times Square to "grow up." That's kind of how planting tomato starts in Texas in April feels - it's a cold world and predators love innocent, little babies like these.

No sooner had I begun, the rain got serious. I was halfway through wrapping protective plastic around my kindergarteners' cages when it really started coming down. Incidentally, 13 gallon kitchen trash bags with the bottoms cut out fixed with clothespins make pretty good mini-greenhouses for tomatoes.

Rather than dashing for the house, a move Ranch Boss suggested from the covered porch, I just kept working.

I recalled days when I used to take dude ranch guests riding in the forest. Panic would descend the moment it began raining. After we put on our rain gear I would always suggest that everyone hold still, notice how dry they actually were and how the horses seemed to care less about the rain. Once the panic subsided, people remarked on how much mist warm, wet horses create and how each rider got to swim through it. We noticed how much louder the birds and frogs got and how the pine trees smelled.

Oh, how a wet forest smells. 

It's not all that different in a wet garden. In fact, it felt like a benediction - a message to quit panicking, quit questioning and just focus on the task at hand. I calmly moved from cage to cage continuing to work as if I were not soaking wet. I just enjoyed the warm, heavy rain and a rested in what to me was a tacit confirmation that "the farmer who plants generously will get a generous crop." 

The soil is fertile around here. April 17, 2010