I subscribe to a number of blogs. They mostly run in a few key categories: artists whose art is their living; moms who blog about being moms and keeping house and the things they make for their families and friends; and a few that are maintained by many people on grand topics (one about mothering, one about home ownership, one about knitting/sewing/design).
Anyway, when it came to the ones written by individuals, I could never understand the posts that contained pages and pages of photos from their garden or from local parks. Yes, flowers. More flowers. Ferns. More ferns. More flowers. On and on – I get the picture! (Yes, mom, this includes you. I know you don’t have a blog, but you did drive us around to see every flowering tree and bush in a five mile radius of the house each spring).
But, oh, things change. Now I live in a state that’s been chilly and brown and barren (and snowless!) since late October. Now I have a yard in which things are actually growing. Now I am growing a little crop of my own. And now I am delighted by it.
Some lovely person who lived in this house before we did planted daffodils and tulips and all sorts of other flowers I don’t know in our front yard, and they’re all up and blooming, reddish-oranges and dark purples and yellows. Mark’s mother gave me more tulips, which I planted just last weekend. And the garlic bulbs I pushed into our first little garden bed last October have stalks a foot high and bright green. I am so eager for all of the buds on the tree to blossom, so eager for the swiss chard and arugula in the backyard to start coming up, for the tomatoes and peppers and eggplant seeds I have buried in soil in egg cartons to sprout and move outside. So eager for the weather to finally warm. So eager for this baby (the size of an avocado, if you’re wondering) to reveal itself more obviously in the shape of my belly.
We’re all eager, I imagine. The dog is ready for afternoons in the yard instead of brisk walks through the chill. Mark is ready for evenings grilling out back, homebrew in hand, sox on the radio. The house is ready to open all of its windows and let the fresh air in. We’re almost there. I can feel it.
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