Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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late summer beauty and reminders

By mid August I often feel confused about what my job is, about what is priority in the gardens and with the animals, about how it all relates to the outside world, and, crucially, what to do with my hair. I suspect this slightly unmoored feeling is generally owed to a stack of conflicting energies: Most of the world is hot with Back to School Fever, while the pool is still blue and I could eat at least four more watermelons. Also, our family is in a dense Happy Birthday season, with parties and special days left and right, while many members are enduring some damaging and deeply worrisome crises. We try to prop each other up and stay engaged with reality; and we work to celebrate and keep things moving, too, like always. Joy and grief and work and play, all at once. The delicious, brackish water we know so well.

Things are shifting, I can feel it. The same way things shift toward the end of winter, when we get a glimpse of change but then it all buckles down again to remind us we are not in control. An early thaw then a late freeze, that trick. At mid August we might get a glimpse of more serious color in the landscape, tighter, cloudier skies and just barely less daylight after supper, but we are still firmly gripped by summer. Our cars are still ovens for the commute home, and tomato vines refuse to produce new flowers until nighttime temperatures relax. We know that October is there waiting for us, just like April always follows closely after Februrary, but the weeks between could mean anything. So the moment matters greatly. How we spend it, how we feel about it, how we infuse it with meaning.

I feel all at once stifled and ready for change but also panicked, regretful and sad for the season soon ending.

I feel the loss of aggressive sunshine and limited clothing as well as excitement for autumn plans and traditions.

I feel the stunning passage of time as well as deep gratitude for the health of our animals and closeness of friends and family.

I feel like a failure for all the things I did not accomplish in my garden this year but this overwhelming amazement for what happens out there with very little intervention from me. I also feel childlike joy over the garden our girl has grown at her own home. There is nothing like watching that adventure take root.

I feel so happy for all the peace and stability our home has provided all summer long, for people and visiting pups and resident four leggeds alike; and simultanously I hope we travel a bit more in coming years. I hope we rediscover how to play and pause work and worry. I hope our calendar next year includes lots of time off for my husband.

I feel safe and loved and clear eyed about the future but also empty in the way that only a missing loved one can make you feel. It’s always hard to acknowledge that another season, and soon another year, has passed with out her. I have mostly learned to stop setting timelines on God, but occassionally the length of this hard season takes my breath away.

I feel like I spend so much of my waking hours on cemented daily routines, and while they serve us really well, when time feels suddenly precious I crave to break it up.

And so I find my paperback journal and write Senses Inventories, gluing the details of my moments to paper. I make lists of clear, specific blessings and prayers recently answered. I let it all build a crackling, electric awareness of and confidence in the beauty of my life. Life right now, life as the exact and unique gift that has been given. It’s a transformative exercise. It wakes me up and helps me shed the heavier feelings of this in-between season.

And I take lots of extra walks around the farm, with little expectation to be productive. Just looking and absorbing and remembering that this beautiful, imperfect, chaotic little rectangle of Oklahoma is our home. It is a childhood dream come to life, the details of which I barely have shared with anyone over the years, and it is okay for me to accept and enjoy it. In fact, I really should.

I try to see the gardens from new angles and internalize the shapes and colors for what they are according to Creation, not for how they measure against a list of jobs or design advice on some website. I try to rest in the long series of miracles that must happen just in the process of one tiny cosmos seed becoming this five foot tall, ethereal, glossy, fernlike, mysterious widlflower. Also, does anyone else get tranfixed by the word “cosmos” being used both for this pefect flower and for outer space, for all of creation?

When I feel like I have been sleepwalking through routines, I slow down and let Klaus lead the way without rushing him, instead of expecting him to keep up behind me. I pay attention to what he sees and what makes him smile, remembering his first puppy summers and how much he loves this farm, his home. His kindgom. How much all the animals trust him.

I take deep breaths and inhale the basil and manage to laugh at how I always expect the cute little bed shapes I plan in April to stay tidy and petite all the way through August.

I spend more play time with the horses and let them come to me, which they always do. I hug them and wait for them to them let go first, as the saying goes, accepting their massive necks on my shoulder and not fearing for my toes near their hooves. I give thanks for their health a thousand times per day and smell them and feed them extra apples and carrots and kiss them excessiveley when they accept fly spray. I listen to their complicated whinnying language and do my best to whinny back correctly. I look into Dusty’s eyes especially and wonder if he remembers her, if they talk to each other. I look into Chanta’s eyes and tell him thank you for being so gentle with children and small animals.

To stop time, I do my best to pause and text my frends when they cross my mind. We are all busy. Everyone. But my gosh life is rich because of our friends! I hope they feel how treasured they are.

I try to apply thought to details that connect my past to Jessica’s future, like morning glories. LIke so many plants and recipes and books and rituals. I remember her as a toddler so easily, like my mother surely remembers me. And the strands just grow and grow.

I make note of the many pleasures and comforts of living in a small town near other small towns with easy access to big cities, when the mood strikes. It’s common enough to moan about the inconveniences, but I always crave to get home as fast as I can. It’s my paradise. I know it all is such a lavish gift. I know that each animal is a once-in-a-lifetime friendship with a real soul and that their trust is no accident. So I try to hold their gaze as ling as they offer it.

It’s blazing hot now, and windy, and my feet are very tired and my hair needs a miracle and I have packed the next few weeks with about 27% more than it can easily bear. But it’s all perfect. Life is beyond good. I can actively will the clock to slow down just enough to catch my breath, and I can trade the moments and days for glittering jewels, while they are still up for grabs.

To put a dent in time, do things that time can’t take away.
XOXOXOXO

stream of consciousness, early july 2022

I have been in one of those pleasant storms of coincidence lately, one of those brief and lovely seasons that feeds you layer upon layer of soul food, from a surprising variety of sources, at just the right moments. Books, interviews, conversations, and spiritual affirmations have been flooding me for several weeks, and I am so grateful. I’m trying my best to harness it all, to capture not just the words and themes but also the symphony of sources, because that has been much of the beauty. I feel humbled to receive encouragement from people I respect and love. I feel thrilled to discover actionable ideas from people who know more than me about things I care deeply about. And I feel hopeful that I am on the right path, maybe more than ever before. This all is a full spectrum pleasure, a refreshment and fortification which I have desperately needed.

In between it all, summer is in full swing in Oklahoma. Most days, the work at hand entails just keeping the farm alive and hydrated, animals safe in the extreme heat, gardens somewhat productive, beautiful enough to enjoy privately. We are very much at that point of the year when I find it hard to remember what a deep freeze feels like. The other day I dug around for something in a coat closet, moved a pair of winter boots, and laughed at how far away it seems that I was spending five minutes bundling up in layers just to go do one quick round of frigid feedings or habitat checks.

The book How to Do Nothing by Jenny O’Dell happened across my path right as I was losing my appetite for the trappings of social media. Not losing my appetite for connection, just the junk and noise of it all. You know. This book deserves a full review, which I will share soon. Then Red Dirt Kelly, my friend and a brilliant woman we feel lucky to know, invited me and two other women specifically to read a unique book by Ada Calhoun, Also a Poet. This book is bearing more heavily on me than I could have guessed it would, and I am very excited to soon meet my two new friends, hug Kelly, and discuss the first half next Saturday. Also a Poet is almost a biography within a biography, or a memoir within a biography, or something like that. Fascinating characters and clean, insightful prose. Mostly, it has fully rekindled my desire and calling to write.

Then I had a waking dream just as I was finishing up a round of antibiotics for (probably) salmonella poisoning. It had to do with book cover art, and my hands shook as I told my husband about it.

We had another brief health scare with Chanta. He is a sturdy but undeniably aging horse, and gosh we love him. Every year we love him more, and every year he seems to slow down a bit, which is to be expected. Maybe I need to get him to read Ageless Body, Timeless Mind by Deepak Chopra? Anyway, this threw me into more equine reading material, which actually calmed my heart so much. Our horses are doing great, all things considered. And we will give them the best possible days for as long as possible. This all led me to send a thank you to our friend Tracy who is always there to answer horse questions when we have them. Then I started reflecting on all the many questions I have been able to answer for gardening friends. Which led me to think again, and more gleefully, about how good the world is because so many people dive headlong in their passions. I want to be a lifelong learner of as many good topics and skills as possible.

Perhaps, like me, you are noticing more and more “prepper” advice in mainstream media. Lots of people are responding to rising food process and interrupted supply chains with foreboding advice about growing and preserving, hoarding, prepping, saving, you name it. IIt often feels unnecessarily panicky to me, but then I admit to having an allergy to fear mongering and anger generators. It seems like we have enough of those two types of energy to keep us alert, you know? Victory gardens, sure. Yes to growing a garden, no matter what your economic status, yes to learning a few new skills no matter what your upbringing. And actually I think this generation has many advantages over our great grandparents, who survived the Depression and World Wars. We have more general and specialized knowledge, we have a communal sense of urgency, and we have recent history to show us the dangers of soil depletion, chemicals, and monocropping, among other things. In order to harness the edge I believe we have, all we really need to do is slash distractions, go deeper instead of broader, and get to work. Be resourceful, creative, and diligent.

This is where How to Do Nothing was so useful to my thinking. That we can accept the invitation to live according to our natural design and just use technology as a tool, not let it rule over us. That we can reclaim long stretches of time, immediately, for our own private consumption, owing nothing to anyone,  is just a luscious, greedy, deliriously happy idea to me. I love it. I am here for it, as the kids might still say.

Do the kids still say things? Or are they too sad, as a group?

Overnight, we lost Rick Astlee, the one eyed duck. We are heartbroken, as we always are to lose any farm-ily member. He was special. He survived ice storms and bathtubs residencies. He chose to live with the flock when given the opportunity to float on the pond. He survived that goose attack, of course, which is what left him one eyed and limited in navigation skills. He had a best friend named Mike Meyers Lemon, who must be even more sad than I am today. Handsome and I are thankful to have had that beautiful little boy for as long as we did, but we are definitely going to miss him. He is buried in the front field, in wildflowers alongside the meditation path.

In happier news, today the llamas enjoyed a long, drenching afternoon beneath the sprinkler. Romulus especially luxuriated in the water, and it made me happy to walk out and see him standing or lounging in the spray. All day he turned his body and let his woolly self get soaked. Little Lady Marigold seemed offended by the offer, honestly.

Look closely and you might be able to see the water spray headed for Romulus.
It reached Meh, too.

So much can change in such small windows of time. We are constantly on the knife edge of transformation, even if it often seems like change takes forever. Miracles happened constantly, sometimes overnight. One phone call, one bold decision, one enthusiastic mindset shift or eye to eye conversation can be what triggers a detour to a better storyline, and I love that. Keep chipping away at your biggest desires. Keep dreaming them and believing in them. Pray, too, as you work. Imagine them perfectly fulfilled.

In my garden, in my marriage, in our family, in our community… With hopes and dreams to be what we were designed to be, to live more fully and love more deeply, I want every drop of it.

More soon, friends. Thanks so much for dropping in.

If these words can do anything
if these songs can do anything
I say bless this house
with stars
Transfix us with love
-Joy Harjo
XOXOXO

garden check in, mid august

Hello, happy mid-August, how does your garden grow?

In Oklahoma, we are already enjoying a few softer days here and there, with temperatures often below normal and rainfall above. Then the heat returns. Then it’s mild again. And again, more equatorial heat. We are challenged by army worms but blessed with butterflies and wasps and frogs and birds, and we still have the prettiest daybreaks and sunsets anywhere. The Lazy W gardens are still producing tomatoes, tomatillos, herbs, zinnias, and peppers. And seeds I have sown recently are already an inch tall. But the brightest summer colors are beginning to fade. I see it first in the hydrangeas, and they are as beautiful as old linen or well worn blue jeans.

me and my giant parsley branches…xoxo

The older I get and the longer I garden intentionally, the less I see each year as a separate event. Certainly, they do all swim together in the fast moving stream of time; but more importantly, it is all a beautiful continuum. One gardening seasons leads and contributes to the next. Last year’s failures and successes become this year’s goals and puzzles, which set the stage for next season’s main show. The flowers reseed and the perennials grow and mature. Some die. The trees change silently, imperceptibly, then all at once one day they are towering and full bodied. Our tastes evolve, building aesthetic ideals one upon the other, hopefully honing ever more clearly on what we actually want from our gardening lives.

And there is always, always something happening outside. Something I absolutely love about living here is how much quiet drama is constantly available to us outdoors. Yes, summertime is rightfully the most glorious group of months because of the exuberant food supply and almost tropical colors everywhere. But the end of summer is hardly the end of the gardening year. I love knowing that. I love feeling deep in my bones the connectedness of all these efforts and all these various months and days. The life-affirming continuum of summer that leads to fall that leads to winter that was all preceded by dozens, hundreds, thousands of repeats of the same pattern. What if I die and someone takes over my gardens here? The work I do now, the choices I make, will become that gardener’s starting point. Just as the work done here fifteen years ago started me in my adventure. Or my Grandpa! His garden, though never my own, really started it all. I digress.

summer shade garden in mid august, where the chickens play

For most of this month and next, I am following a self imposed five step plan to keep the gardens thriving and happy and prepare for the coming season. I see it in these stages: Edit, Nourish, Fast Food, New Color, and Reflect.

#1 Edit ruthlessly! This is hard for me at first then becomes deeply satisfying. I pull hidden weeds, prune overgrown, leggy perennials, shear back flowering annuals to give them a chance to bloom again, and then completely yank out the summer vegetables that are well past their primes (looking at you, Japanese eggplant). I do a little bit every day, sometimes in passing, and then I do a lot with more focus in certain areas of the farm, a few times per week. One day it will stop growing back, ha. I have developed the habit of walking around with a five gallon bucket, a pair of scissors, and a little hand trowel to make the job easy and accessible. I was so gratified to hear that my friend Dee does this too! Once I get over the emotional conflict of uprooting plants, the thrill of creating blank space for the next project is even better than emptying an overstuffed closet in the house.

tomatillos, blackberries, beans, & parsley, plus blank space…xoxo

#2 Nourish! This time of year, all the shrubs and perennials especially benefit from a generous application of farm compost. I mound it up generously and let the chickens scratch it in then water lusciously, knowing most plants can still grow, still embolden their roots plenty, before frost. I am eyeballing the beds during this task to see where I might add more structure in fall, especially some evergreens. I am also tallying up how many new bags of mulch we will need when it goes on sale soon.

#3 Fast Food: As I type this, Oklahoma still has at least 62 growing days to go, probably more like 73. That’s a lot of warm, fertile weeks! I have already been sowing seeds for fresh sweet peas, bush beans, Swiss chard, pok choi, spinach, and arugula, all quick producers. I also planted some extra zinnias just for fun, but I think Leon the rooster scratched up and ate those. It’s fine. Soon I will add more lettuces, kale, radishes, carrots, beets, and more. I am amazed by how quickly they germinate right now in this warm, welcoming soil. It’s a different experience than springtime. And what a comfort to have these things to nurture in place of the things we lose at summer’s end.

#4 New Color: Before we know it, the nurseries and hardware stores will be overflowing with a flush of new color. I am excited to add lots and lots of it to our containers and beds, and I am wide open to inspiration based on what I see and what I feel will last the longest. I sometimes begin this season with a color scheme in mind but often abandon that completely when a certain flat makes my mouth water. The only plan I will absolutely keep is helping Jessica and Alex plant their first perennial border. That is exciting! Boxwoods, hydrangeas, and spring bulbs, here we come!

#5 Reflect: Again mindful of how “this year’s” garden is simultaneously part of both last year and next year, and realizing that my memory has better things to do than memorize verities and dates with much specificity, I am resolved to journal a little more intentionally. I want to capture my satisfaction with what has gone well and capture the regrets I have or the lessons I am learning.

I will always want more and more sunflowers. Always more…xoxo

This is where I am in the gardens for now. The days pass too quickly because they are brimming with goodness. I am so happy having the flock free range. Grateful for a ribbon of affectionate cuddling with the horses. Really fascinated with the compost process. Overall, just blissing out here. Thank you for listening!

One more thing, friends: I am slowly reading a new book called The Well Gardened Mind, researched and beautifully written by psychiatrist Sue Stewart-Smith. I am gleaning just so much from its pages, I cannot wait to tell you everything. If you believe intrinsically in the value of gardening to restore and maintain our health both physical and emotional, this book will resonate with you. Here is one luscious quote for you now:

“As children, and let us not forget it, as adults too,
we need to dream, we need to do,
and we need to have an impact on our environment.
These things give rise to a sense of optimism
about our capacity to shape our own lives.”
~Sue Stuart-Smith
The Well Gardened Mind
XOXOXO

free range friday

Our free range experiment is going well overall. Not a single chicken has been hawk-caught or otherwise injured during their daytime freedom romps, and Klaus is acclimating well to his newly crowded playground. In fact, he loves the two flocks being out, and when he isn’t protecting them he seems to be boasting his superior running and fetching skills.

We wondered whether any of the birds would know exactly how and when to retreat to the safety of the coop at bedtime, but our concerns were soon alleviated. Despite having only ever lived in either incubators or grow troughs or enclosed coops, every hen and every rooster (around thirty, total) has scooted peacefully to their correct shelters every evening, just before sunset. Knock on wood, we have done zero chicken chasing in the dark. Have you ever chased loose birds with flashlights, with your spouse, wearing pajamas, very tired, avoiding stickers, trying not to get in a fight and also getting sweaty before bed, but then definitely getting in a stupid fight but the chickens still don’t appreciate your efforts? Fun stuff. We are so thankful that has not been the case this year.

Our lone gander, Johnny Cash, is sometimes the wild card. He still rejects our offer of pond life, choosing instead to keep company with, and loosely referee, his adopted family. Occasionally at bedtime he is alone, still nested comfortably in the lawn. He honestly appears to be watching the sunset, though, and as we approach, he always waddles sweetly to bed. We say goodnight and latch the door behind him.

As I write this from the upper deck, the sun is basting me aggressively in my own sweat. Klaus is sitting on the top step of the pool ladder, cooling his hot feet and belly while Handsome sweeps the chlorinated water. To my left, some poultry chaos is brewing in the fire pit. One rooster and two hens have taken up residence in a small, empty cardboard box and are attempting a late afternoon ménage-a-trois. It is a novel setting, I will give them that. But they are making too much noise now, and BW has left the pool and walked over to evict them.

Now someone else is laying an egg in the shade garden, a particularly vocal event, and all the disruption is bouncing from one small group to another, layer upon layer of growing excitement. Exult! Celebration! Announcement! This lasts for several minutes and is so loud we cannot have a conversation. But we love it.

Now the south yard is mostly quiet. We gradually hear a few long, exaggerated moans plus a few stray, one-syllable clucks in the distance. Just here and there. Someone is hot and sleepy, and someone else has found a wealth of insects or worms and is calling everyone to the feast.

my newly arranged stone walkway is a joke to them

Free range ducks means that I can move their little plastic wading pool around the various gardens as often as I want, emptying it easily at the base of any thirsty shrub or in any flower bed as needed. I am not pouring the duck water on food, just to make sure I use compost that is as well rotted as possible; but this little nutrient-rich deep watering feels like a good choice for ornamentals. And the ducks love having fresh, shaded water every single day. It is so fun to watch them discover it anew every day. Splish-splash. Klaus stands and watches them too, smiling. Salivating?

Half an hour later, the same feathered trio attempted another cardboard box rendezvous, and this time Klaus took charge. He marched up to the edge of the fire pit and used his considerable snoot to tip over the box, emptying the lovers onto the smooth rock surround. More chaos. Many loud objections. A satisfied Shepp.

A few people have asked me recently whether the chickens do much damage to my gardens. The answer is yes, they certainly do some leaf shredding and crater digging for dust baths, but not enough to bother me. I harvest way more food than they ever eat. And they provide far more help to the gardens than harm. So the balance is in check for now. They eat grasshoppers and who knows what else. They uproot crabgrass for me and scratch the earth where it is impacted, leaving scant amounts of diggable fertilizer as they go. Symbiosis.

And gosh dang they are so fun and beautiful! I might think long and hard about exposing my more delicate early spring gardens to their treachery, but that decision is for next March. For now, this well established Eden in late summer can comfortably host these happy flocks.

they are not shy lol

The only new problem worth solving seems to be the sudden and conspicuous absence of fresh eggs. We get only three or four per day lately, compared to twenty or twenty-five normally, and most of the ones we do bring to the house have been found in random, temporary nests around the farm. Handsome tends to find a clutch near the base of the pool pump, which is enclosed by wooden walls. Today I found eggs inside a potted plant.

Two roosters are that empty box now. They are obsessed!

The End.

life lately, as we approach the end of july 2021

Well, my summertime blogging streak did not last long, ha! But I am happy to be back at my keyboard, brimming with good feelings and stories worth sharing and enough words to match.

Since last we spoke, Handsome and I celebrated twenty years of marriage, all wrapped up in a solid month of celebrations, farm visitors, staycation weeks, and some projects sprinkled in, just for good measure. We reunited with a few beloved friends, sparked a couple of new friendships, and spent lots of time (and money) eating restaurant food. We also celebrated our youngest niece’s birthday. How is Kenzie fourteen already??

The farm is, as I type this, still unreasonably green and lush for late July. The year’s extravagant rainfall and mostly below average temperatures have really shown us how much wants to grow here, given the right conditions.

We are flush with tomatoes, marigolds, blackberries, tomatillos, zinnias, herbs, roses, hydrangeas, and more. Soon, we will have okra and squash in abundance. Until a few weeks ago, the easement along the front edge of our property was bursting with tall prairie grass and wave upon wave of bright yellow wildflowers. Call them weeds I you want to, but I love them. The front field, where we have the winding meditation path, also boasts these beautiful natural features along with some blue wildflowers and a smattering of hot pink cosmos and rusty colored amaranth. I am smitten by the textures, depth, and variety. We recently invested in a brand new zero-turn mower with a generously sized deck, so Handsome can more easily maintain the paths out there. If you visit us, please take a few minutes to wander! I promise you there are good vibes in the quiet where Chunk-hi used to play, and you might see the flattened hiding spots where the deer sleep.

Speaking of good vibes, we are still buzzing with romance and gratitude from our big anniversary party. We filled the house and south lawn with a few dozen friends and family to renew our vows with happy witnesses, eat some decadent cake, and dance ourselves into blissful exhaustion. It was a much anticipated event that was twice nearly ruined by weather, but at the last minute, on the second reschedule, everything came together and everyone had a great time.

We still feel so cushioned and energized by everyone’s love and support. Good marriages don’t happen in a vacuum, after all; we feel lucky to be integrated into such a healthy community. Twenty years! Twenty years of adventure, ups and downs, terrifying moments with our kids, heartbreak with extended family, evolving friendships, paradigm shifts, incredible career trajectory, romance and tradition-curating, and of course this little farm experiment of ours. Two decades of absolute amazement that we still get to live with each other, still get to build the exact kind of life we want and enjoy the daily process of loving each other. It all feels way too short and fast.

The same weekend that we celebrated twenty years, Jess and Alex celebrated six months! Already these gorgeous young kids have made memories and tackled life curveballs together, working hard and loving their pups along the way. We are so proud and happy.

Are you reading anything worth sharing? In the morning minutes while I drink coffee and wait for daybreak, I am still working through Ask and It Is Given as well as a perpetual devotional by Bob Goff and a new book about the connection between gardening and mental health. More on that third book, soon. The rest of the day and evening, when I manage to claim some time to sit and read, I have sworn myself to only fiction. It’s a way for me to capitalize on summertime freedom, ha. Recently, a Tana French book blew me away: The Witch Elm. Everyone who likes this author says to also read her Dublin murder squad series, which I intend to do. This week I am reading Silent Corner by Dean Koontz. He is one of my all time favorite writers. Like a good, lose-yourself-worthy palate cleanser.

Last month, Jessica read The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, and I read it a second time to discuss with her. Ten years later, with so much about life that is vastly different now, was a wholly different experience. Hearing my adult daughter’s remarks was unforgettable.

She was a baby the first time, recently gone from us, and my world was spinning and bottomless. Now she is “home,” and I understand so much more about the hell she and her sister endured in those years. I wonder what will have changed ten years from now, if we were to read the book again, what healing can have happened. Will Jocelyn be whole and home and fully returned to us, a second time? (She is okay now, but we are not completely okay without her.) Will we have grandchildren? Will my husband be talking about retirement or consulting work? Will I have published five or six or ninety books? Will someone have found the safe cure for squash bugs and grasshoppers, and will our kitchen walls be opened yet?

One more update to share before I close this up and see where I can move the needle around the farm today: We have been invited to participate in the 2021 Oklahoma Master Gardeners’ Garden tour! So on the last day of September, a tour bus (or two?) filled with talented, passionate local gardeners will spill out into the driveway of our farm, and we will welcome them for a little exploration. Lots of changed here since the same five years ago, and I know that August and September will bring rapid changes in the vegetable garden and flower beds, but overall I excited to share our space and reconnect with the gardening community. I had pulled away from volunteering when our life could not bear so many hours away, but gosh I have missed the people.

Pat, one of my sweet, smart class mentors,
and Elizabeth, a mind blowing multi-talented woman!

Keep dreaming up what you want, friends. Remember that it is a different act of faith that dreaming against what you don’t want. Keep visualizing the fruit of hope and work and Love in vivid detail, and walk steadily toward every big and small thing that brings you joy and satisfies you. It is good work, the business of keeping your flames fanned and lively.

“You gotta imagine what’s never been.”
~Sue Monk Kidd
The Secret Lives of Bees