Sprouting Miracles

Here at the Ballpark, we are preparing for a miracle.

We're laying the foundation.

We're planting seeds.

We're watering and spraying.

We're watching.

And waiting.

This is our foundation...

It's four feet by four feet.   It contains four hundred pounds of soil and twenty-five pounds of manure.  And some string.

My husband and daughter are doing most all of the work. 

I love the silver head helping the auburn head.

I love the white socks.  Which, apparently, are the perfect garden shoes.

These are our seedlings...

The tall ones hogging the sunlight are cucumbers.  They outgrew their cubby overnight.   For as mild as cucumbers are, I was surprised to see that they are rather pushy.   I know nothing about gardening.

A few days ago, our daughter carefully buried the tiny plants that were ready for transfer. 

She's a tender and watchful gardener.   She's planted green beans, broccoli, butternut squash, lettuce, carrots, watermelon, and tomatoes, which she hates, but is willing to cultivate for her elders.

She made plant markers, so we can tell what's what, because at this point, everything just looks green and sprouty.

As a chemistry major, she prefers the scientific spelling of watermelon.

We have never planted a vegetable garden in Florida, because 1) the soil is sandy, 2) the sun is too hot, 3) squirrels are rampant, 4) most of the rain we get comes in the form of afternoon storms, or seasonal hurricanes.  None of these particularly nurture baby greens, or burgeoning vegetables. 

That's why it will be an act of God if we harvest any crops.  He'll have to do His part: manipulate the weather and monitor the rodents.  We'll do our part: go outside every day and look.   

It's been said that only God can make a tree.   Only God can make a green bean too.