ies more than a score of years, my 
garden and I have been good friends 
... friends that never bore, never impose 
and never inflict.any penalties upon one 
another. We understand each other... and 
asa result... both of us flourish. But my 
garden is different from the average... 
vastly different. 
For instance, in the average garden when 
one plants petunias, petunias come up and 
bloom...and if one plants radishes, 
radishes grow! But I repeat, my garden 
is different . .. I plant petunias, asters, 
zinnias and harvest in bountiful return 
... contentment, satisfaction, relaxation 
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to bring forth living testimony of Nature’s 
greatness ...it makes me step and think 
... when I planta seed! And when I realize 
that that privilege is mine, something in- 
side me swells with a feeling that wipes 
away all man-made cares and tribulations. 
Yes, gardening brings a man to his 
knees, right down to earth... and for most 
of us that’s good...for too often do we 
walk among our fellow men with our noses 
held just a bit too high! But on your knees 
in contact with the moist soil, gently 
warmed by Spring’s early sunshine, ah! 
that’s the time you have a moment to 
yourself in which to relax and think about 
the worth-while things in life. 
Oh, yes, the world passes by my garden 
and admires its beauty of color... its fra- 
gility of blooms and its generosity of crisp, 
health-giving vegetables ...some of my 
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and appreciativeness. 
In short, my garden gives me solace and 
quietude from a world of turmoil and strife 
...it is the one spot in my life, where, after 
the world extracts eight, ten and even 
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twelve hours of physical and mental energy, 
I can gather to me a feeling of contentment, 
and rest, that try as I may, I cannot dupli- 
cate it in any other manner, believe me. 
friends and neighbors comment on the 
practical side of my gardening... even 
smack their lips in anticipation of pre- 
served fruits and tasty vegetables, way 
WHE fp 
out of season...and others perhaps envy 
my “savings.” Yes, those things, the pass- 
ing world sees and admires. 
Perhaps that’s why I smile to them and 
to myself when their words of praise ring 
in my ears, for little does the world know 
that the outward signs of my gardening 
are but the aftermath of the true harvest 
of gardening . . . the feeling inside, that 
you're glad that you're alive...that there’s 
a God in Heaven...and that once again 
throughout the world shall re-echo the 
cry that “‘All’s Well.” 
To start with, my garden is no different 
than that patch of ground outside your 
own doorstep...it starts out exactly the 
same as that... with dirt...the stuff for 
which children are scolded when they be- 
come too familiar with it...and yet, did 
Yf you ever see a healthy normal youngster 
that didn’t like to dig in the soil? 
/ “(/ There’s something warm and intimate 
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NuG A and why not... does not life itself stem 
i ys from the very earth? So, when I plant my 
Uf, yk garden I feel privileged indeed to stimulate 
| to life the tiny live spark deep within each 
seed...1 love seeds...small diminutive 
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