Heart Paths – Gardening Principals

The Wheat and the Tares

For several weeks, two different scriptures have been coming to mind. Again and Again!

The first scripture, Matthew 13:24-30, where Christ talks about separating the tares from the wheat and He gold His servants to leave the lawless tares alone. He further explained this in verses 36-43. At the end of the age, the tares will be gathered out of the field by the angels who are sent by the Son of Man. Then the waiting wheat which is ripened and unharmed can be harvested. (Paraphrased)

The wheat is longer, bigger, and stronger. The rare is shorter, medium sized and weaker. Tares (Hebrew Zuni) the Darnell is a weed that resembles wheat. It’s grain also resembles that of wheat. But darnel flour is poisonous and give a bitter taste to bread. The rare produces some seeds, but the wheat produces the biggest seeds. Nobody would consciously sow tares in their field.

The second scripture is 1 Samuel 16:7……for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart. I have meditated on this scripture in reference to my drawing conclusions, whether good or bad, concerning my interactions and relationships with people in my everyday life.

Last year I struggled with trying to grow a few vegetables.  My goal was to have a tomato that tasted like the ones we used to grow when there was adequate space for a real garden.  An old fashioned garden.  

I remember living at my grandmother’s house which was in a valley along a creek. The soil was rich and in her garden grew luscious vegetables. When I was young I’d wander into the garden, stand between the long rows of plants and pull off a big juicy tomato. As I took big bites the juice would squirt in my face and run down my hand and arm. There may have been a salt shaker involved but I honestly don’t recall. Or maybe that desired taste came later in life. Now I like my tomatoes, sliced with a sprinkle of salt. Unlike my husband Steve, who prefers sugar on his sliced tomatoes.  Steve grew up in Maine and his family ate tomatoes with a little sugar

sprinkled on. To me, this seems very strange.  Maybe this is another difference between the northern and southern people.

But back to grandma’s house.  My grandma Delphia Weaver, my momma’s mother, owned a farm in Gilmer County, West Virginia.  That farm being a little under two hundred acres, is still in our family today.   

Grandma Delphia, widowed at a young age was left with six children.  The oldest being my momma at ten years of age and the youngest my auntie 10 weeks old.  From that time on the family grew a garden and raised farm animals. This was to become their main way of having food to eat.  Extra eggs were sold, even though I can’t imagine having extras with six children.  In the spring of the year, the herd of sheep were gathered in andmy uncles would shear their wool.  This too was sold. My memory recalls each individual sheep being held down as the clippers was guided over their bodies and big clumps of wool, which had kept them warm through the winter, fell to the ground leaving them seemingly without a garment.  The wool was gathered into large bags of some sort of material and assembled together for a trip to the market to sell.  I don’t know who bought wool in those days.  I didn’t get to tag along on those trips.  I assume it would be similar to selling walnuts.  I can remember those trips to a neighboring town with bags or buckets of walnuts.  Maybe the walnuts were weighed to determine selling price.  Or it could have been by volume.  This recall is slightly foggy to me as well.  Another thing that could be sold back then were mayapple roots. Or so I was told!  Possibly that was just something to keep me busy and out of trouble, because I can remember digging up some of the plants and saving the roots which were laid out on an upstairs floor to dry before a sale. But I do not remember any coins in my hand from such a sale.  Oh My!

Hogs were butchered and the meat was salted down and hung in the smoke house to cure, providing meat for the table. Some of the meat was canned to sit on shelves along side many other old time glass canning jars holding other home canned foods including green beans, tomato juice, pickles, greens, peaches, applesauce, black berries and other food that was either raised or foraged for.  Momma, being the oldest helped her mother take care of her younger siblings.  Times were hard then. It was the depression years you know!  Once again, I have strayed from my storyline.

Gardening principles were learned young and grandma’s two sons, my uncles, had to learn skills a little before their time. They became responsible for men’s work as soon as they were old enough.

The girls, my momma and my three aunties, grew and learned to help hoe in the garden, do home canning of food, pick black berries and huckleberries and clean the house.  Washing of clothes was done on a wash board I think.  Momma has spoken of taking one of her young sisters still in diapers to school with her during the day just to help her mother.  Grandma had two young ones in diapers at the same time.  

Sometimes when I write, these memories come back and I realize that the gardening principles I learned back in the early years became part of me.  In a way they are applicable to our own lives.  We are produce of the Almighty Father you know!  If He doesn’t keep weeds out of His garden, His produce can become stunted or weakened before maturity is reached.  Any good farmer knows to cut the weeds early or pull them out when the soil is soft and the roots are still young.  Or to “nip it in the bud” as “Pops’’ used to say about weeds or about the beginning stages of almost anything, including sin and bad habits.

This year, I’m once again attempting to grow a few things in three raised beds that my husband ordered and put together for me.  We have no space for an old fashioned plowed up garden.  My son-in-law placed these beds in a selected location and brought several loads of dirt from the woods with his tractor to partly fill them.  Then husband went to our local supply center and purchased bags of potting soil to top off the woodland dirt. They both were trying to prevent me from stumbling around as I did last year on our uneven ground taking a few tumbles as I put together a little chickenwire type fence held vertical with various things improvising fence posts surrounding my tiny patch of tomatoes. All in an effort to keep the wildlife from destroying my plants.  My pops used to do such things as this.  My momma would say that he was good at cobbling up things.  I smile as I remember the conversations I overheard.  She would get snappy with him.  He would gently reply with “don’t go borrowing trouble Mrs. Jennings”… They were an odd couple, Pops being several years older than Momma. But they made it work, even though they bumped heads often, as it is called. I would listen to their muffled chats as he calmed her down after she had became upset with him over one thing or another.  And she would continue doing things her way!  Being a school teacher by day and a farmwife and gardener evenings and weekends.  

Momma had a green thumb.  She would fill old dishpans with rich dirt from the woods.  She sprinkled a few seeds that she had saved from the previous years crops into that dirt and the tomato plants grew in abundance.  She cheerfully gave tomato plants to many neighbors to place in their own gardens. This brought her much joy!  Momma always wanted to help anyone who needed her help. She understood being poor and not having things. She was for the one in the ditch, so to speak. I learned this trait from her. Sometimes it has faired me well.  Sometimes, not so much.

Another old time way was drying green beans. This was done with a long piece of twine or heavy thread on a huge darning needle.  The needle was put through the green bean and the bean was pulled to the other end of the twine which had already been knotted.  More green beans were added until the long string was full.  It was then tied off at the needle end and hung up.  It was hung on a nail in the wall or ceiling through the winter months in a room which was kept warm by a natural gas heating stove. The beans would be totally dried after several weeks.  As I recall in the spring these beans could be shelled for seed.  But it also seems that maybe they were shelled out and cooked.  Or could they have been put into a big cooker with water with a little lard to cook them down?  I have inklings of such memories. Dried beans being cooked as well as dried apples.  Dried apple pies hold a flavorful memory!  And Momma made them ‘her way’… using apples that she had sliced and laid onto a screened type holder that hung from the ceiling, usually over the cook stove which provided heat for cooking and dried the fruit as well. 

This past year I dried some fruits and fresh produce, but my technique involved a small dehydrator that husband bought for me to use. This is an acceptable food storage prepping option, but definitely doesn’t give the same memorable experience as old folks sitting in a chair with a pan of beans alongside. They’d punch that big ole darning needle through bean after bean, gently working them down the twine building it long enough to hang. There may have been muffled ornery stories involved and coffee or the inevitable spitting contest among any snuff rubbers.  “Really?” you ask.  “Well now, would I lie?”  

Pops often dabbled in various organic gardening attempts.  He would read and experiment with ideas, trying different things until something would stunningly grow. Grow Big! Together he and momma often had amazing little patches of wonderful things. One year rhubarb!  And they were so excited about their rhubarb.  Another year it was mounds of sweet potatoes. I turned up my nose at the thought of actually eating such stuff. I turned up my nose at many things back at that age.  I had not learned much then about gardening principles.  Of plants or humans!   

Some of these little patches momma would stir around and create in the dirt, then cover with assorted sticks and such to keep the chickens out of seeds so they could grew into young, small and tender plants pushing through and covering over the sticks. Of course this same little patch of ground would develop into richer soil year after year as the twigs rotted along with the other kitchen scraps that momma would add to the pile during the winter.   Now, in truth, this pile of sticks and twigs could have also been assembled to prevent or discourage Pops from accidentally approaching with what he would have considered an improvement to her project. Remembering their acts of juggling each other, I smile. I smile big!

Pops also had adventures in grafting of some fruit trees.  I remember one of his successes was an apple tree with part of the branches bearing the original apple and other branches that had been grafted on bearing apples of a different color.  He was proud of that success and he and momma canned jars of variety apples for many years from that one tree. After Pops passed away, Momma became very protective of Pop’s tree. I understand that more now.  Lots of work, bonding and production were involved in the life of that tree. It is human nature to become attached to long term relationships.  This principle holds true with our spiritual natures as well, I believe.  The pruning and nurturing by our Heavenly Father in our lives can produce a wide variety of wonderful fruit, if we don’t resist. 

As I write about my history with gardening, growing crops and principles involved that can be applied to our own lives, I’m considering many of my Pop’s strict rules. I thought he was being cruel and unfair. Now I can see the comparison to those sticks and twigs that were meant for protection from prowling and destructive critters.  You know, right?  Seeking whatever or whom may be devoured!

As I’ve moved forward with my small raised beds this year, which I’ll mention here are not impressive to look at (not sure if its the soil or the weather or that the sower hasn’t given enough love), I’ve pondered much on the Mathew 13 scriptures and 1 Samuel 16:7  that I’ve already mentioned.  They both have continued to nudge me, kinda getting stuck in my mind with a ‘knowing’ feeling. You remember, right?  “That still small voice”…. Often it has helped me balance the risk involved in voicing my opinion on such subjects that I will call religious errors or political sins.  God told Samuel that man looks at the outward appearance but He sees the heart (paraphrased).  So since I can not see people’s hearts I had better leave the judging to God.  I can judge sin, but not people!  

A third scripture that just now came to mind is Matthew 5:8  which says “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.”  So it’s really about heart issues.  God speaks to the heart.  Again, that still small voice!

So… where does this leave us?  For me, I believe that before I intrude in any situation or insert my opinion I should be prompted by the Holy Spirit.  If ‘He’ truly urges me, it will not be intrusive, nor will it destroy another life!  

These two scriptures both merit a much deeper study to offer more insight. But for me, TODAY, the simplicity of each one stands alone.  Leave the judging and separating to CHRIST.  He alone sees our hearts.  Whatever He says is RIGHT…….  Christ will have the tares removed at the proper time so as not to harm the wheat.

Contact me at alice.heartpaths@gmail.com