There have been times that I felt like I was missing something. Like an ache I can't pinpoint. A void. Moving so much in the past few years made it clear what that illusive hole was. Now that we have a house we can mess with again, I/we put in raised beds. The ache is gone. Just in one weekend.
I need to grow stuff. I know it's a hobby that is not glamorous, like fast cars, skiing, sunbathing, shopping, traveling, or biking. It is slow, and dirty. It is the incarnation of the word 'humble' (okay maybe 'incarnation' is a bit transcendental and hyperbolic, but the word displays the unseen call my spirit has to gardening). It fills the hole in me with soil, and leaves, and vines, and hope.
This is the modest beginning of what could be several years of tomatoes, cucumbers, berries, and satisfied tummies. If not, I can grow something somewhere else, but this summer, we will have a bit of hope growing in the front yard, for the deer to munch on.
P.S. These photos might lead you to believe that I had little to do with the project, but I was there, thankful that I had a crew that wanted to be a part of something that is mine!