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My family and I are gardening at Faith Community Garden. This is my first attempt to grow vegetables in several years, and my earlier attempts were mostly unsuccessful. Inspired by the local foods movement and several local gardeners, I’d wanted to try again. But our yard is very shady, and the community gardens I’d seen in East Lawrence seemed too far away. When I heard about a new community garden on Kasold and learned that there were a number of families with children involved, I signed on.

Faith Garden has a “crazy-quilt” mix of growing spaces. Twenty four-foot by eight-food beds are assigned to particular community gardeners. (My family tends two of these). There are communally-tended beds with perennials like berries and asparagus and space-intensive plants like corn and beans. And there are several young fruit trees, including apple, peach, plum, cherry, and pear.

My goals for our garden experience were modest. I saw this first season as a season of learning. And I wanted my two young boys to experience planting, tending, harvesting, and eating family-grown vegetables. With the help of more-experienced gardeners, I chose what spring and summer veggies to plant. Because I wanted to engage my kids, I picked out colorful varieties (like purple carrots and neon orange beets!) and varieties with exciting names. (“What kid could resist eating a Dragon Egg cucumber?” I thought.)

Well, that cool, rainy spring threw us off a bit, but we eventually got all of our spring plants in the ground. Soon came the thrill of first growth. It was exciting to watch the seeds sprout and the transplants grow. “Look at this!” we called as we wandered from one spot to another. We cheered our own plants and those in other beds. We took pictures.

A short time later came the joy of first tastes. Little snacks straight from the soil. Radishes at first, and some nibbles of herbs. Then peas and lettuce. I loved watching my boys jockey for the next dirt-covered radish, and I marveled that they would eat such a spicy bite. They certainly wouldn’t have eaten radishes at home, and that is one of the most magical qualities of home-grown food. “This,” I said to myself and anyone else who would listen, “this is what it’s all about. If we only grow snacks, not enough to shape a meal, this is enough.”

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But there was more! We’ve recently had our third near-religious gardening experience: the awe of bounty. Enough carrots and garlic to fill my harvest basket more than once. Enough Dragon Eggs to share with friends and neighbors. So much squash on the vine I’ll be giving it to my enemies. “We’re growing FOOD!” I exclaim to myself.

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When I look at the cucumber and squash plants spilling over the beds in every direction, I have a strange feeling of competence, even power. “This giant plant, this amazing vegetable, grew from a seed I planted!” But of course these feelings are misplaced. It’s Mother Nature who’s competent and powerful, not me. It’s Mother Nature who created—and continually creates—the wonder of a seed. This is vividly illustrated by the veggies growing in our beds that we did not plant. One of these “volunteers,” I think, I hope, is a descendent of a melon we got last year from Rolling Prairie Farmer’s Alliance, brought to this summer’s garden in a big bucket of homemade compost. I can hardly wait to harvest this! Imagine the dinner conversation about cycles of life. Surely we’ll notice on this particular evening how Mother Nature feeds us every day with seeds and dirt and water and sun.

I haven’t yet said much about the “community” in “community garden.” Without a doubt, it’s been more fun to have these experiences with other Faith gardeners, most of whom I didn’t know several months ago. We’ve planned together, shoveled together, been excited together, and shared the early harvest together. Faith Church of the Nazarene has contributed in countless ways, including giving gardeners use of land, water, tools, storage space, and meeting space. Other people and organizations—like Farmer John Pendleton, the Lawrence Fruit Tree Project, and the Lawrence Sustainability Network—have donated plants and shared expertise. Their generosity reminds me how lucky I am to live in this part of the planet we call Douglas County.

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Not everything has gone as planned, of course. My family’s first planting of beets was a total bust. We got only five bites of spinach, and our onions were the size of pearls. Our squash is smothering our basil, and the sunflower house, sigh, is not shaping up to be a house at all. As a group, we may have let the crabgrass and bindweed take our beans.

But it’s all good, says this community gardener. My boys have fought over dirty vegetables, I’ve proudly served a few dinners with a preponderance of homegrown food, I’ve been reminded of the joys of giving and receiving through the gifts of friends and strangers, and I’ve experienced in a new way one of the miracles of our universe. Yes, even before this growing season ends, I can say with awe and thanksgiving: It is indeed a bountiful harvest.

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