They came anyway.

She painted it metallic pinks and purples. Covered it in foam sticker butterflies and hearts. We hung it on the fence and waited.

The rains came and the heat, too, and the paint started to peel. A sticker and then two and twenty washed away.

A few butterflies remain and today, she squealed a whispered jump for joy in my ear.

“They found it! Look, mama!”

Howdy, new neighbor. Make yourself at home.

We’re not doing the things.

I don’t want the words to come. So the pictures. And the walks. The sand and the catch. The bikes, swings, fire pits and pushes. The seeds and the earth. Less coffee and deeper breaths.

Wildflower anticipation.

The youngest picked a packet at the shop last we went. A mix of wild promises of blossom and burst.

This variety has sprouted in a few spots we sprinkled. Each pair of leaves with a match pair of nibbles. Such consistency that I first thought it a pattern of growth… but it’s instead a habitual snacker.

It’ll be a lovely wait and good surprise to see what these grow into, if they make it to maturity.

More than those.

Pollinators aren’t only honey bees. Yes, we need to save the bees. But also these little flyers.

Can you spot them?

I don’t know their name. Nor do I immediately recall if this is quinoa or amaranth, only that it as an impulse grain purchase months ago now.


A few more months and perhaps my life will shift again. Stories told are being retold and adjusted. Unfolding as they are unearthed. And as such, perhaps the solid harvest shown, that recently appeared to be unraveling, may have been sown in cover crop and sold as orchard.

And perhaps, after these next few months, I’ll find my way away from mixed metaphors. Until then, I’ll dig into reality as often as I can, gulp from sweet sweet iced water in a jar reminiscent of pasta night years hence, and breathe.

So long and thanks for all the…

Well, there weren’t any fish.

I’ll be taking some time soon. Time for me. Time for reading a book with pages (not played and paused during a commute each day.) Time for building places for new life to grow. Time for naps.

It’s been over a decade since I started on this adventure with a small (20-30 people, mostly part-time) company. We’re over a thousand now and it’s time for me to go, I hear. Funding from this firm this. Restructuring that. Go be free out there.

It has been quite the ride. It didn’t feel real.

It feels real now.




It took me eleven years to cry at work. It was when my favorite person left last year. I’ve cried more in the last few days than perhaps any time in my life. And the people around me, crying with me…I feel for them. They are why I cry.

I needed to visit this today. And there it was.

There’s an offer on my garden (and the house that belongs to it.) I may leave my job, sell our house, celebrate both kids’ birthdays, two weddings, and a MIL retirement all in a month. And that’s not counting the usual well checks, and the haircuts, and the CPA and the and the and the…

I am looking forward to finding stillnes.

I am eager to unlearn. deprogram. revert.

I see that sunshine coming. I feel it licking at my skin, warming in laps. I know the other side will be bright. I know the next adventure will be here soon. I know.

I know I’d like to skip this part. I know I’d like to be there now. I don’t know so much.

I see the sunshine at the end of this. And I am grateful that time passes on its own so the sunshine inches closer each day no matter how the day goes.