Growing Something Better

By Beth Watkins
There’s something about springtime that makes folks want to open windows, clean out closets, and maybe even peek out the front door to see if the neighbors are still alive and ready for a cookout. After a long winter of confusing, seesawing temperatures—where you needed shorts one day and a parka the next—March just rolls in with her own mysterious mood swings. Will she bring warm breezes and wild daffodils, or will she slap us with a late snowstorm and the flu for good measure?

March is the season of new growth. The earth starts greening up, baby calves find their legs, and every hardware store in the county sells out of tomato plants. Folks start making ambitious garden plans, fueled by equal parts hope, memory loss about last year’s weeds, and the siren song of heirloom seed catalogs. You find yourself petting baby chicks at Atwoods, thinking, “How hard can it be?” while conveniently forgetting you once killed a cactus.

But maybe this year, along with our gardens and yards, it’s time we put a little effort into growing something else: personal responsibility. And maybe even—brace yourself—neighborly love.

Now, I’m not talking about the kind of neighborly love where you let someone move in with their three untrained dogs, six boxes of drama, and a Wi-Fi password they never stop using. I mean the kind where we treat folks with basic kindness and decency, without expecting them to carry our groceries, fix our fences, or raise our children.

Somewhere along the way, it seems like society forgot that love and enabling are two different things. The Bible says to love your neighbor as yourself. It does not say to take your neighbor on as a dependent. Yet more and more, we’re seeing an attitude of entitlement blooming like crabgrass in what used to be tight-knit, self-reliant communities.

There was a time when being called “self-sufficient” was a compliment. It meant you could patch a roof with tar and a prayer, make a pot of beans stretch a week, and wrangle your own problems without immediately calling the government, your mama, or Channel 5 News. You didn’t expect handouts—you offered a hand up when someone else truly needed it. But lately, some folks have gotten real comfortable hollering “help me!” before they’ve even tried standing up on their own two feet.

Case in point: a woman on social media said she needed her oil changed and a chicken coop built. She had the supplies but no funds to pay for help. Fair enough—times are tough. But the very next day, she posted photos of her estate sale haul, bragging about how she “only” spent $400. Not even a month later, she’s showing off her custom steel gate entryway. Clearly it’s not a money shortage—it’s a priority misplacement.

That kind of thinking doesn’t just stunt personal growth—it chokes the roots of the community. I know people need help, and we are called to love our neighbors, but let’s get real, folks. Last year’s gold medal for gall goes to the woman hosting her child’s backyard birthday party who posted: “Can anyone bring enough food for about twenty people? The child loves spaghetti with all the trimmings, and a cake. Please deliver it hot, at party time.” You think I’m kidding? I’m not. I’m still in shock.

We weren’t meant to live like hermits, but we weren’t meant to sponge off the folks who are doing the work either. There’s a balance somewhere between “do-it-all-yourself survivalist” and “the world owes me a living.” And that sweet spot is where real growth happens.

Spring is a perfect reminder of that. You can’t just toss seeds in the dirt and expect a harvest. You have to work the soil, pull the weeds, and show up every day—even when it’s hot, dry, or swarming with grasshoppers. Same goes for character. You’ve got to tend it. Cultivate it. And not just when people are watching.

If you want a better world, you’ve got to start in your own backyard. Literally and figuratively. Pick up the trash that blew into your fence line, and since it came from your poly cart, go grab your soda can out of your neighbor’s yard too. Wave at your neighbor, even if he insists on mowing in Crocs and tube socks and blowing his grass trimmings into the street. A little physical kindness can go a long way.

I grew up being taught that if someone was struggling, lost a loved one, or just got over an illness, you found a way to help—even if it was just sending over a casserole. Honestly, our first instinct should be to offer help, not because we want a parade in our honor, but because it’s the right thing to do. If you’re swamped with work or kids or life, send a food gift card. If you’re short on funds, offer to mow a lawn, babysit for an hour, or just check in.

We should teach our kids and grandkids that it’s natural to struggle. That hard work isn’t punishment—it’s how things get built. It’s how we move forward. Asking for help in a crisis is fine, but leaning on others indefinitely is no way to grow tall and strong. A goal shouldn’t be “how do I get the best handouts” but rather, “how do I build a life I’m proud of?”

We all need each other, but we also need to pull our own weight. Otherwise, this whole wagon’s going to tip. There are programs out there to help folks get back on their feet, but they aren’t just hangouts—they’re meant to be springboards. To break the cycle. To build something better.

So maybe this spring, as the world begins to thaw and bloom again, take a quiet moment to reflect on the life you’re growing—both inside and out. Ask yourself what kind of neighbor you are. Are you showing love, or just expecting it? Are you helping things bloom, or draining the rain barrel?

There’s still a lot of good in this world. I see it every day—in farmers helping neighbors fix fence after a storm, in church ladies who deliver meals without a fuss, in kids learning to shake hands and look folks in the eye. But good doesn’t grow on its own. It takes effort. It takes intention. And sometimes it takes a little tough love with a smile.

So here’s to spring: the season of new beginnings, fresh starts, and maybe, just maybe, a collective shift back to kindness, accountability, and old-fashioned neighborly grace.

Let’s roll up our sleeves, open the windows, clean out the cobwebs. Let’s go through our closets and our abundance, and donate to local places that help people get back on their feet—places that believe in a hand up, not just a handout. That’s how we grow something better.