Fruits and Roots and Fireflies

This is, somehow, our fourth summer in this house. The first summer, we were really just getting the lay of the land. The second summer, I was pregnant and yard work didn't happen. The third summer, I spent DAYS weeding to recover from the past year's neglect, and then we (Ross) tore up the garden beds and redesigned the garden space and laid a bunch of sod. This summer, we tore up an old RV pad taking up 1/4 of the yard and... now we have a pit of mud and weeds there. BUT the rest of the yard is... dreamy. It truly makes me so happy. The green, the smells, the dew in the mornings, the promise of bountiful things to come.

This winter was particularly long, cold, and snowy, so when spring finally cane, the wonderful succession from crocuses to daffodils to tulips to lilacs to asparagus to peonies to roses and strawberries has felt nothing short of miraculous. 

Of course, in this life season perhaps more than any other, it's not lost on me that small (and occasionally) large daily tasks are required to keep this progression running smoothly. For a few weeks, I was knocking asparagus beetles off my precious asparagus into soapy water every time I went outside. (One of those days, Isaac came to me crying... all wet... with dead beetles all over his shoulders, having mistaken the beetle cup for an innocent cup of water).

Then, of course, weeds always need to be pulled-- urgently in April when all the dandelions start to bloom, and constantly in little windows of 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there throughout the summer. Even the good plants that overwintered need tending to: pruning, fertilizing, watering, training. And of course the new ones need to be planted or transplanted and watered and tended until they're stronger. In a perfect world, we'd be seeding and feeding the lawn so it's healthier and more resistant to weeds. And moles. Maybe someday.

But for now, I'm reveling in the fruits of our labor thus far, and I'm reminded that big tasks get done in small, daily, consistent ways that don't feel like work in the way that a full day of yard work would. In fact, they almost feel... fun. They build gratitude. I'm hoping care breeds contentment. It benefits my body and spirit in ways I'll never understand to have my bare feet in the earth and bare shoulders to the sun (or, even better, to the dusk and the first fireflies of the year). I'm grateful to have this time to notice and to do the work of tending to a small plot of land: to pluck weeds while keeping one eye on Isaac. To stumble upon yet another one of Rosie's kitchen garden creations simmering away with water, mud, leaves, and flower petals. To see Noah reading in his de facto camp: flags, army tent, bike, Nerf guns, and all. Or to enjoy the silence while watering after the kids have gone to bed and to witness the first long awaited firefly signaling that seasons really do change and the world is bigger than I remember sometimes.