Gifts of the Sun
I would like to tell you a story about a gardener who grew up in the city. In her late twenties she decided to get a potted tomato plant. The plant sprouted a few tentative leaves and eventually, joy of joys, yielded one fruit. A gloriously round tomato that held on for dear life until it started ripening to a greenish rosy hue, at which time a squirrel came and consumed part of it, rendering it inedible.
How does a tomato plant bloom only one flower is a question that would probably occur to that gardener today, but with the seriously limited knowledge she had at the time, she didn’t ask herself. Four years and two moves later two healthy tomato plants joined a diminutive back yard where northern exposure and the shade of a black walnut tree practically guaranteed that pending a miracle they would not bloom. They didn’t.
Four more years passed, with yet another move to more space but also more shade. Additional tomato plants joined the team. They developed anemic scraggly legs and acquired plentiful black spot courtesy of summer rains and lack of sunlight.
Each year after that the gardener tried every square inch of the shady back yard with sad results. This is when the heretical thought occurred to the aspiring green thumb: plant the tomatoes out front, in full sunlight.
Since the previous experiences did not inform, she planted a few seedlings, six or seven, in the hope that maybe one of them grows a fruit or two. The gardener had learned from books that tomatoes produce a lot of fruit, but books also tell exciting stories about flying monkeys and wish granting goldfish, so the expectations were modest.
The plants grew healthy stems, indefinitely long stems sprawling in all directions and filling all the space they found. Clusters after clusters of tiny yellow flowers bloomed and bore fruit, so much of it that the branches were weighed down to the ground. The more the gardener picked, the more the plants produced, first filling a small bowl, then a large cooking pot, pounds at a time. There was so much fruit that some of it fell to the ground, not to be recovered, and its seeds sprouted the next year, ten, eleven new plants, no effort required, just by the grace of God. The young plants grew with a vengeance, twice bigger and three times faster, quickly producing fruit without any involvement from the gardener.
Ok, so what is the point of this boring story? Maybe if the gardener had full sun exposure during her many unsuccessful years, tomatoes would have grown like the gifts of the sun they are, and the miracle of abundance contained in their little seeds would have gone unnoticed.
Maybe if the gardener didn’t see success so easily achieved, she would still think that growing tomatoes required more talent that she had, and was something better left to the experts.
Strenuous effort in unfavorable circumstances does not yield miraculous results, but it steels the commitment to create for oneself the conditions which do guarantee success.
And, if during this process somebody tries to convince you don’t have what it takes, ignore them and find yourself some sunshine.
Previous Post
Next Post
