Showing posts from June, 2019


We have lived in our house for just over six years and, each spring, I am grateful for the matriarch who proceeded me. Donna was a wonderful gardener. Her landscaping is timeless and her perennials are a lavish inheritance. 

My husband has a green thumb, and my expertise has been limited to spreading mulch, pulling weeds, and complimenting his ability to keep the yard alive. Small children have had me moving the sprinkler and putting away bikes, with little time to fuss over soil and plants before dusk turns to dark. I’ve spent five summers assuming this tending would feel like one more nagging task on the to do list and was grateful to Matt for watering, pruning, and caring for our little patch of land.

But this season is different. Now all five of us are in the yard. Ten bare feet smell like the cool earth. Fifty fingernails harbor half moons of dirt. Our necks are tanned from the sun because we are looking down, underfoot this summer, picking peas and broccoli, smelling for mint and …