jungles and metaphors

Just after Gideon was born, we planted a garden. 

Two days after we planted the garden, a crazy thick weed moved in and carpeted the plot.

Three days after the weeds moved in, you could not see the ground and we counted the garden a loss.  Our lives were too messy to dig and fix and cut and prune and… care.  Let this one go. It’s fine.  You will have another chance another year.

Last night, Curt and I put the kids to bed and found ourselves standing silently among the rows as the sun began to set.  As we looked closer, it became obvious to us that despite our neglect there was indeed life in there.

It is not what it could have been.  It is not by the book.  It is not completely whole.  But, it is alive.

I have been sad these past couple weeks… friendships have changed and not changed and I have changed and not changed.  Some are fine to be let go, as they were for only for a season. Some will change and survive that change and be better for that change.  Some will fall away and I will feel that loss deeply. 

I was wrong to assume the garden was a loss.  The ground and the dirt and the seeds… they are an old recipe that knows how to survive neglect and torrents and villains.  They are able to change, to bend, to adapt.  The smaller plants will melt back into the ground… making room for and feeding the bigger plants.  They were not a waste of time or money… or heart.

I’m not sure anymore… whether I’m talking about the garden or the relationships.

And, I suppose that’s right. 

About texasnorth

TexasNorth is a little farm in Western Michigan. It's home to 5 chickens, 25 longhorn cattle, a coonhound (Banjo), 1 barn cat, a husband, and 3 ridiculously funny children. The mom of this zoo has been known to mow the lawn in a skirt and roast marshmallows after dark. View all posts by texasnorth

14 responses to “jungles and metaphors

  • Mr chris

    Thank you for this kate. This is better to wake up to than any cup of coffee. Yes, this is a wonderful metaphor and i couldn’t agree more, especially with how some relationships serve as a ummm…… fertilizer for the others.

  • Miss Laura

    Oh, Lawd.

    I know this all to well. It’s painful, not knowing what to do – do you struggle through the maintenance of it, hoping fervently for it to bear good fruit, or do you let it go and trust that the loss will feed other growth?

    I’m not sure I’m talking about the garden, either. But I do know we need some time together soon. I’ve been missing you, friend.

  • beckyswann

    Sometimes things don’t always need us to get in the way. Love the metaphors!

  • annie

    o girl, you made me cry with this one. it’s all so true. what a great metaphor for life in general.

  • Heather

    I have been dealing with the same things lately. (friendships not the garden) but I love the metaphor. It’s hard, and hurts deeply. It hurts even more when I know a lot of it has to do with Diabetes invading our lives. Things are different. I am different. Which has caused wedges in friendships that I thought would stand the test of time. I feel like that garden, able to change and adapt but some friends haven’t. Some don’t want to understand or even try to. It hurts. ((hugs)) to you dear friend.

  • Suzanne

    Great thoughts by Katie Kate

  • Mandi

    Always a good word. Thanks for the perspective.

  • Tricia

    Beautiful post, Katie– and I love the wild garden.

  • Heather E.

    amen. Thanks Katie.

  • Rebecca

    Oh honey. You’ve hit the metaphorical nail on the head with this. It’s so so hard sometimes but also just “one of those things”, as painful as that can be.

    I do so heart you. Big.

  • Grace

    Cryptic… and beautiful. I may have no idea of the issues of which you write, but I can sure apply your metaphors to my own stuff.


  • Margie

    I remember feeling so abandoned by friends and so inside only my house during Sarah’s first year. Life is so restricted with babies – and yet I just called a friend with a new baby and could hear the distance in her voice. “I’m fine,” she said. Only I could tell otherwise.

    I hope you don’t feel like I’m one who’s left. I haven’t.

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