I am not a master gardener.   Most of what I have learned about gardening has been by trial and error. For almost 20 years since we moved into this house, I have planted and dug, replanted and moved countless flats of flowers, shrubs, bulbs and vegetables. Gardening at 4,000 feet in a high desert climate is extremely challenging. The winters are harsh and cold, spring is unpredictable and summer flits by like a hummingbird. It can still freeze in  July or begin snowing in August. In addition, there is only a pinch of natural topsoil over base rocks. A good rain or run away sprinkler   floods away soil and nutrients in a flash.

Still, I love it and cannot imagine doing anything else. Digging in the soil has been healing. When troubles  overwhelmed  me, I planted gardens. When I needed to clear the wasps buzzing in my head, I divided daylillies. When I didn’t know what else to do, I pored over minute seedlings emerging from the soil. And when   flowers finally flourished, I  found  peace and contentment.

I now garden for the joy of it. I’ve  dirt embedded in my fingernails. Manicures went long ago. I’ve figured out what thrives well and what does not and spend energy on babying perennials and cool weather vegetables. Tomatoes, peppers and eggplant grow bushy and tall only in catalogues and gardening magazines. I no longer bother.

Despite all the work, my little gardens don’t compare to what grows wild farther out. Beyond the gardens a spectacular display of golden balsam root covers a sunny side hill, like a carpet unrolled down the hill. In the mornings the wildflowers catch the early sun and like true sunflowers, they bend their heads toward the light. What a gorgeous sight!   It is unexpected and humbling.

I am reminded that the work of our hands is just that – the effort of human hands. Sometimes what begins as a labor of love turns into mere sour labor. There have been times when dirt is after all just dirt and the work is back breaking. Instead of feeling fulfilled, I grumble at the drudgery and see weeds instead of flowers. I forget why I ever wanted to come outside. Vision gets lost  like a misplaced glove in the garden shed.

^…  And why are ye anxious concerning raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:  yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Matthew 6: 28-29

In this Gospel Jesus tried to explain to his followers that our Father  sows lilies of the field whose splendor surpasses even   Solomon’s. God holds the tiny sparrow in His gaze and knows everything about us, even to the hairs upon our heads. Jesus made these analogies to teach the people that it is useless to worry about food or clothing or shelter. God knows our needs much better than we do.

The field of yellow wildflowers spreading on the hillside tells me the same thing. He Who Seeded  the forest  floor with yellow balsam root  is ever near.  God  knows everything that’s needed, garden wise and other wise. His blessings are  like wild lilies rampant  outside the garden gate.