I’ve never been so happy to be hit on the head with something in my life, and I laughed when a plum came down on top of my head, while I was picking them.

Not long ago I thought I might lose this tree during what we’ve come to call Icepocolypse 2022. The hardy live oaks Texans are so proud of, that we thought could survive almost anything, were not, it turns out, meant to be covered in ice. Branches that held for hundreds of years, came down in a terrifying cracking and crashing of limbs that continued for almost a week. One of them right on top of our young plum tree. I cried when I saw the damage.

I had searched quite a while for this specific variety of plum the year before knowing I needed a survivor, who wouldn’t be fussy. I’m not one to pamper and prune. So I plant thoughtfully, carefully, considering my limitations, and the brutality of our rocky soil and climate.

I’m good about doing that with my garden, meticulous even. Today when I reached up through the tree to pull a branch down to pluck the higher fruit, I looked through the limbs at my garden blooming around me, roses, sage, lantana, cucumbers, tomatoes, asparagus figs, salvia, sage and any herb I could find that wouldn’t hate me. I admired the view, giving myself permission to pause in gratefulness while considered the fruits of my labor. Like the plum coming down on my head the realization struck that there is no more accurate truth, than we reap what we sow. I wish I was as thoughtful choosing my words, as I am my plants and I wish I sat with the Lord as much as I do my garden. This year I’m trying to be better at both.
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