Tis not always the season…

It’s Wednesday here still. In other places it’s Thursday already. Every week the story repeats. Every day a similar story is told. I am not one for annual resolutions, but I can relate to those who are. I do my best resolving in the moment when the inspiration, necessity, or courage descends. When it’s time, it’s time. Time for change, as so many will attempt to do tomorrow. Or time for a walk, or time for a bloom.

It’s 37° F here and has been all day. The They People say it feels like 23. After the walk I took earlier, I’m inclined to believe them. Wrapped snugly with a baby, two jackets, a scarf, gloves and hat, my daughter and I set off to walk the dog. The dog? He was quite stylish in his green, grey, and brown sweater rescued from the Goodwill. (He’s a large dog such that they don’t make sweaters in his size, but short haired with little body fat and a big shivering mess when it’s cold, so there you are.)

No one was out. A few cars rolled by, but not a single person was walking, or raking, or checking their mail. The birds were hunkered down on power lines and in bamboo stands alike. The squirrels were happy to leave you wondering where they went.

Ah, but the wind. The wind blustered and billowed. The wind cut through sleeves and ripened cheeks. The wind made no mistaking why no one was out.

You may think we were out walking for the dog’s sake, and while he does enjoy two walks a day most days of the year, he would’ve been more content, I’d wager, curled up on his new Christmas bed by the fire. No, this walk was for her. Our little runchkin who was rather angry that she’d forgotten how to nap today. There are a few magical tricks in our parenting bag that work when “nothing else does” and the best bet is tucking her into a wrap while I walk around the neighborhood. Even that doesn’t always work, and when it doesn’t (like today) it takes a little humming and she’s fast asleep.

So I enjoyed the abandoned yards and still constructed (or half-removed) holiday decorations, because it meant no one would interrupt her precious nap, and no one would hear my humming of two verses of Little Drummer Boy for a mile and a half.

And when we got home, and she’d woken up again, we visited my current favorite volunteer plant and had a seasonal surprise.


Happy New Year, near and far.


And so it begins.

The first garden in the new house is planted. Just a few days shy of six months after moving into our new dwelling I have food growing in soil in my backyard again. There’s something settling in that…having food growing in my backyard.

I continue to spend most days growing other things: my marriage, my daughter, my career, the dust accumulation on the ceiling fan…but to once again have hope of the tastiest broccoli, of crisp kale five minutes fresh in my breakfast of bacon, carrots and egg yolks…I knew I missed working the earth but only now that it’s sneaking back into my days do I allow myself to realize how much I truly yearned.

Only one bed is growing, but I’m slowly adding more. Four more are built and waiting. Sticks, grass, and ash in the bottoms. Two bags of leaves transferred from hatchback to hatchback in the dark parking lot of a diner. Tree branches fell in exchange for a neighbor’s apple pie.


I have my work cut out for me, and for that I am grateful.