April Brings...

It's April first (well it was when I started writing this) and I have started seeds! Not because I'm organized, and not because I will actually have a garden per-se yet again this year. I started seeds because I have a good friend. A friend who always shares her time, her knowledge, and now even her seeds. She is the type of woman who makes things grow wherever she goes. Flowers, fruits, friendships… She knows just the right equation to make things bloom. I am lucky to know her.

This morning I was in a panic. April first had come bright and sunny, and all my garden dreams remained just that. Pie-in-the-sky dreams. I may have the spot chosen, but no seeds started, fences up, or basic idea of what I'd plant. Um... Vegetables? In essence, Spring has come AGAIN and left me unprepared to start a garden in the soil my husband and I have planted our metaphorical roots in. (Sadly, only metaphorical)

When I look out at our property I am struck at once by two things. How crazy-lucky we are to have so much space in the middle of a thriving city to call our own. And how much work it is going to take to turn all this space into what we want it to be.  

When we first moved in the place was like a jungle. Trees surrounded the house, their branches literally reaching over the roof like protective arms. But, the image of protection was an illusion. One good ice storm and... The ferns and foliage grew right up to our doorstep after years of unobstructed growth. The owner before us had grown old in this house, and in the last decade less and less had been done outside. His last few years spent in assisted living, left the property almost totally unattended.

It was beautiful and mysterious... but like settlers carving out a home in the wilderness we have been pushing back on the over-growth. Part of me mourns for the trees, ferns, and bushes we have cleared away. The place no longer looks like an enchanted forest. Actually, it looks a little ugly, but at sunset with visions of the future in our eyes I can see the magic under the surface. We have big plans for how we want to cultivate this space.

And just like all big transformations we have to go through the awkward and often unattractive phase on demolition and construction. I hate this part.

In the end there will be a kitchen garden on the back patio, a new front patio of laid brick so we can sit and watch the kids play from our higher elevation, a tire swing on a tree down by the pond, the pond stocked with fish and maybe ducks, fruit trees and bushes, a garden on the terraces, a  bee garden, chickens visible from my kitchen window, a new balcony, a couple of big dogs to chase away the garden-munchers and chicken-snatchers... and on and on and on.

Now we have unspeakably massive piles of brush and fallen trees, a carpet of leaves and brambles, deer and raccoons out the ass (which never the less are always cool too see), a half torn-down balcony, sad stumps of murdered tees everywhere you turn, shaggy anti-landscaping, and a general sense of an impossible to-do list.

Life isn't a destination. It's a journey. This same friend of mine, who gifted me with seed to start (as well as the peat-pots and soil to start them in!) was conversating with me the other day about this very idea. How to come to terms with the gulf between where you want to be and where you are. She had just shared this blog post and it really resonates with this exact idea: that if you can only be happy with all your goals met, why bother? Life would be miserable. The joy is in the process... (right?)

So this spring, I am focusing on realistic expectations, and getting my hands dirty every chance I get. Like right now Lola just knocked off for her morning nap... so out into the fields I go!

And for those of you who where hoping to come here today and see photos of me hiving the bees, I'm sorry to disappoint. The girls' arrival has been delayed a week or two due to bad weather. Boo. But, good on the other hand because I still haven’t named the second queen! ;-)