Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and
dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.—John
12:24
“It’s a jungle out
here!” my mother called, approaching my back deck. “Jungle” was a good word for my overzealous overflowing
tomato plants that are more like thriving trees. They have overtaken my flower beds, subduing rose bushes, camouflaging
shrubs, and now running up both sides of the steps, depositing a red-ripe harvest
right on my doorstep.
Amazed at my abundant garden, all my visitors ask, “What’s
your secret?” But the truth is
nothing. I did absolutely nothing. No planting, no fertilizing—nothing. The
plants are products of nature called volunteers. Last year rotten tomatoes
fell to the ground, and the seeds replanted themselves, producing an even
greater harvest this year. Now I have more
tomatoes than I could ever eat! And
gathering them is also a challenge. Many
are ripe but difficult to reach. I lean over luxuriant leaves, being careful
not to break them, and stretch as far as I can in order to reach those beneath
the edge of the deck. Others grow in and around angry rose bushes that attack
with vicious thorns when I approach the plump rubies.
