May. 31, 2017


Every August for the past three years, our 80 year old farmer neighbor, Robert, approaches me at our mailbox and asks, "Do you want some tomatoes? I have so many..."

"Sure," I respond.

The first year I politely accepted (to honor our faithful Pennsylvania German neighbor) not knowing what I would do with the big bag (on top of my own). But Robert's tomatoes are so delicious.   "YES, please and thank you," I say readily to the offer now and pray he would come offer.

"The secret is eggshells. I plant all my plants with broken eggshells deposits in their holes surrounding their roots," Robert shares.

"We will have to try that," Gene and I say for several years. But we forget.

This winter, I noticed a ziplock bag in our chest freezer with egg shells that my husband had started to collect. So I regularly contributed to the supply instead of putting them in the compost.
Last week I finally place my tomato plants in the damp earth.

"How did the eggshells go?," Gene inquires.

"Oh shoot. I can't believe I forgot," I reply.

So I retrieve my gardening supplies, the crushed egg shells, and proceed to go back and replant the tomatoes with a deposit of eggshells in each hole.

Eggshells are a new addition for me in an established gardening routine. I have no practice just intentions. So I have to redo. I could leave it for another year. But somehow in this year of learning the value of brokenness I needed to see new life and growth come from broken open, seemingly useless, crushed shells.

"Unless a seed dies and breaks open in the ground, it cannot produce fruit," I hear as I replant my tomatoes. May my broken open and poured out heart fertilize new growth and fruit as I say "Yes" I am available in whatever form you need me Love.