gardening

The season of tending and waiting can be tedious.

Will my daffodil bulbs overcome their trauma and rise up despite the odds? Will we?

While teaching in a prison, I got to know a gardener.

I relate to the servant in Jesus' parable.

We turned an empty lot in L.A. into an edible sanctuary.

The morning after the House passed its health care bill, my daughter and I planted some seeds.

"I've learned a lot from working with trees. More important, I've worked with people on imagining how to love each other."

McMinn, a sociologist and co-owner of a small farm, presumes a certain level of privilege among her readers: choose heirloom seeds; eat only fair trade chocolate; avoid plastic food containers; and buy eggs “from a local source, if possible, and/or from chickens raised outside eating grass and bugs.” Still, this book is an enticing reflection on the sacramental nature of preparing and eating meals.

Anyone can see the rippling effects of God's kingdom in buildings, movements, and practices. I couldn't comprehend it all without Diana Butler Bass.

There is too much carbon in the atmosphere. What if one of the most compelling responses is to restore the carbon in the ground beneath our feet?

There should be some kind of fanfare as the first seeds of a new season go in. But this sacred mundane act generally happens in silence.

I have to sow my seeds in a propagator to maintain a temperature of 70-85 F? The parable of the sower doesn't say anything about that.