In our last house, we had a large garden with eight raised garden beds. We experimented with lots of fruits, vegetables, and herbs, but not everything we planted could survive the brutal desert summers. We probably planted about 150 strawberry plants during the 8.5 years we lived in that house. Strawberries were almost successful indoors, but window sills were at just the right height for toddlers to squish the tiny red fruit with their fingers. Strawberries were not meant to be.
Our new house has a much smaller garden. Instead of trying out every variety of tomato and planting in waves, the strategy is much simpler now. The kids are older and we are busier, with less time to tend to the dramas of the garden. I was glad when my husband brought two strawberry plants home from the nursery. I didn’t have a lot of hope for their survival, but we could try again.
After the first plant withered, I thought that would be it, but Alex ran into the house one morning yelling. Not only had the last plan survived, it had produced a strawberry! It grew a few handfuls of tiny fruit as the summer went on. When the mint threatened to overwhelm its space, we pulled the mint back, repeating this process several times. By the end of the summer, the strawberry plant sent out runners and new plants started to grow.
This photo of the dying fall plant brings me a lot of joy. This one small cluster of leaves held to life when so many others couldn’t. We were able to get the right balance of watering, sun, and weeding. Now, the buds that once held small white flowers and fruit have lost their ability to grow new life. All of the living green leaves will soon dry out and crumble into the soil. But this time I have hope that spring will bring our strawberry plant back to life: a resurrection after so many deaths.
Where are you seeing or anticipating resurrection in your life?