Tentatively, cautiously. 

I was finally feeling better enough and had felt too house bound, that I intentionally cleared an hour midday a couple of sunny days this past week and went for walks to my beloved beach. Not a cloud in the sky, the bluest of skies and water. The sun feeling cozy and toasty on my skin. So rejuvenating at any moment of the day. With the sun going down at stupid o’clock, if I want to see it, or the ocean in daylight, these midday walks are going to have to get prioritized.

Image of sun shining on swirling, rippling, shallow water over sand with blue sky.

Or even a little wander when I don’t have time. I had about 15 mins between meetings a few weeks ago and just decided to throw sandals on (unseasonably warm day) and wander my yard. And, for the first time since I closed on the house and started confronting 17 million problems with the house, I dreamed. The sun felt good on my head and shoulders. I was noticing where the light was at that time of the afternoon, remarking again on how much room there is in my yard to the west of my house for a fairly epid wandering garden. Do you know the type I mean?

I’m thinking French southern gardens where there’s gravel paths that turn to mixed stone and creeping vine paths, where you turn a corner and there’s a bench or a swing, maybe a greenhouse. I mean – I don’t live on an enormous lot, but there’s plenty of room for me to make raised beds, windy paths, a couple of fun sitting places and even a small greenhouse. And I felt, slightly excited. Like I could envision cobbling things together over several years and having it be lovely in my dappled light. Maybe make a space for my hammock so I can nap like a cat in the shade in some flowers. 

Photo by Carlita Benazito on Unsplash
Image of tan, dirt packed path with wisteria growing over metal archway down the path in greens and purples.

But the point is that for my brain to have even entertained that, I think I’m letting go, at least a bit, of my “the house is an enemy” mindset I’d adopted more deeply than I’d realized. Almost all the “fix this because it’s dangerous” work is done. I’m waiting (eternally) for the handyman/carpenter guy to actually show when he says he’s going to (no, I’m not holding my breath). And then it’s all done. Then I can fully focus on “living here” instead of “fixing here”. And the garden is the first thing that has gotten back through.

I’ll never be surprised when it’s the gardening that gets through. My best childhood memories are of me working with my grandpa in his garden. Here’s (a damned adorable) picture of me with my harvest bucket and my little broom to sweep my harvesting messes back into the garden and off of the drive 🙂

Image of young girl in long pants and sleeves with a pink hat, carrying a red pale and holding a child-sized broom

Wherever I can make new things grow, I always feel close to those memories and honor the hard work and love my grandfather seemed to endlessly provide. Today, I’m starting that here. I bought (too many and do it every time I start at a new house) a bunch of spring bulbs. Things that will pop out of the ground and be cheerful at about the point in the winter/spring where I just can’t take the cold and never-ending winter anymore. It’s the thing I always start with. And gardens are always filled with hope and possibility.

Photo by Erda Estremera on Unsplash
Image of close up purple allium and green grasses with pops of blurred colors in the background from other flowers.