Okra

It came to pass that one day recently I sallied forth from my home and surveyed the remains of my garden.

In the midst of summer plenty, our garden was awash with fresh vegetables.  Green beans, zucchinis, and cucumbers seemed to pour from it in plenteous amounts.  Now, however, there were only some okra plants and a huge pumpkin vine that reached its arms, Trump-like, all over one corner of the garden.

That was all.

In the dusky light, I could see the okra plants, standing tall and straight as soldiers in two rows.  On the plants, I could still see the flowers blooming, even though Autumn was squeezing the rest of the garden into submission.

Okra is one of those plants, sent by God to make poor gardeners feel as though they have a little talent.  Even in years when the rest of the garden is a total disaster, it is not unusual to have a bumper crop of the green (often slimy) vegetable.

I can't say that okra is my favorite vegetable.  It probably isn't even in the top five.  I just have too many memories of okra salad on the third day (but I will say no more on that subject).  Yet, in the spring when I sit down to plan out the garden, I always get a package of okra seeds.  I am not planting it for myself,  I plant it because my wife and children like it and they are pleased while it is bearing.

I suppose that is one of the things I have learned in life.  I suppose when I was younger, I thought that it was important to do things that made me happy, but now I know that it is even more enjoyable to do things that make others happy.

The world doesn't revolve around me and  my happiness.  One of the things that gives me greatest satisfaction is to know that I have done something that pleased someone else -- without the  expectation of anything in return.

The Little Red Hen may have been happy while selfishly eating her bread by herself, but I am happier planting okra and sharing it with the people I love -- even if I prefer other vegetables.