I took advantage of a beautiful spring day to stroll through my garden. I am keenly aware of the fact that my yard, which over the course of 43 years has become my sanctuary, is going to be too big for me to manage, if it isn’t already, as I age. I’ve hired someone to mow for me but the joy I get from tending to the garden isn’t something I’m ready to give up, even when I’m exhausted. At least not yet. I’ve taken on the jobs that were Michael’s, the herbs and vegetables and the incessant weed management. I’ve been working on ways to reduce maintenance by filling space with perennials that can manage themselves naturally, for the most part. I feel lucky that so many plants are cooperating. When each one returns, I make sure to send it some love and encouragement, hopeful that somehow the intangible stuff gets into this rich earth to bring it back again next year. I live in a big old family-sized house and the yard is family-sized too. Since my daughter and her family moved across the street from me, I’m not likely to move unless I can’t continue to figure out ways to manage this place which makes little sense for a single aging person. One day, I may have to stare down that issue and move on. But not today. Here’s the state of my adored dirt in May.
And I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the beauty of the sky overhead.