Another cold, grey wintery day in Ohio. The early morning sunshine, that washed the earth with a soulful warmth just yesterday is gone. The wind blows a lone leaf down the road and whispers through bare tree branches. I sigh, longing for spring. I pick up a gardening book, on loan from the library. I can’t help myself as I peruse the pages, grabbing pen and paper to make my list of seeds to buy. There’s something hopeful about a packet of seeds; a surety that spring will come. No matter how cold and long and hard the winter, spring comes.


And so I plot and dream of plants and seedlings and meals that taste of warm summer sunshine. The reality I see out of my window now, is not going to last. As the earth groans and prepares to shake off its winter cloak, I prepare for the change that I know is coming.


Just the other day, while the boys were helping Austin to put together a new raised garden bed for our front lawn, I was scraping away the musty layers of autumn from our flower beds when I saw them poking confidently out of the ground. Daffodil shoots!


We plant seeds of hope and freedom because they will bear fruit. We know within that a better tomorrow is possible, so we plan rather than hope for it. I pick up my pen and plant my dreams on paper. Dreams of women who are more than survivors of a terrible past. Of children school bound having had a hearty breakfast. Of wars that never saw the light of day. Of families who together change the world.


Beets, kale, lettuce, an end of trafficking, onion sets, peas, radishes, food for the hungry, swiss chard, tomatoes, peppers, justice for the oppressed…