Here at the gardens, nature endures. It doesn’t care about unfinished chores or fret over the calamity of the world. The lavender blooms, the storms pass, the seeds sprout, and the birds sing.The more time I spend in the garden- and the more flowers, food and habitat we nurture- the more peaceful I feel. There’s so much I cannot control in this world, and while nature is a free agent, I too have agency. As I create and observe, I’m in awe that our “little by little” efforts have amounted to a very big difference.When we moved into our home ten years ago, the established flower beds were minimal. Comprised of hostas, a few lilies, and a couple of box bushes, they weren’t exactly lookers, but this was fine. With three young kids, low maintenance was exactly what was needed at that stage in life.Over the years, Matt rescued whatever sad clearance lilies he could find at the garden shop and tucked them into the bed along the side of the house. Only in the last three years have we really expanded the amount of garden space we’re tending. We began dreaming and working together toward a goal of re-wilding instead of just managing basic upkeeping. That shift has transformed our chores into a labor of love.What we’ve created here at home has inspired me to share what we’ve learned. I want others to see how small, steady, intentional efforts can transform their own spaces. My hope is that they too find a sense of calm and connection while helping nature thrive and growing food that sustains them. 

I've noticed something nibbling on my blanket flower leaves, leaving behind small, light-colored circular spots. Initially, I wasn't as upset as past Misty might have been with the situation. While I wasn't particularly thrilled that creatures are munching on my leaves and feel stress about dealing with aphid infestations, I'm learning to accept that these aren't truly "my" leaves at all. It's ok.There's a natural system at play here, and it's functioning beautifully. As we cultivate a biodiverse ecosystem and a nature garden, we are aware that our service extends beyond our own needs. We are nurturing nature, and right now, that means blanket flower leaves adorned with polka dots. Soon, it will also mean monarch caterpillars feasting on the milkweed I've planted for them—five varieties, specifically, to ensure plenty of food. There’s an abundance of dill and parsley for the swallowtails, and it won’t be long before the tomato hornworm discovers its favorite meal. While some will fall prey to wasps, allowing their lifecycle to continue, the hope is to achieve a balance that fosters a rich diversity of life.I like to think that once you recognize how the natural cycles of life and death are not just intertwined but are, in fact, one, you start to plant patio tomatoes away from your main garden beds. Perhaps some sacrificial Roma, just for the chance to witness an essential nocturnal pollinator, the five-spotted hawk moth—a "star of the evening garden." These acts of generosity and reciprocity bring me immense joy, and what a delightful show it is!

While in the garden on Sunday, I found a wayward honeybee. Wayward honeybees are discernible by the way that they walk around the garden. I had trouble transporting it back to the hive as it was still so busy actively being lost, so I gave up and said, “Nature will take care of itself!”. We had just watched The Secret Lives of Bees from National Geographic, and I remembered that hundreds of honeybees die each day, and the hive still thrives. I’d also read the journal prompt for the week, and this situation was not “something unnatural happening within a natural system”. I no longer felt the need to intervene.

I sat exhausted in the garden Sunday evening as I’d overdone it again. Each spring I must re-learn the limitations of this body of mine. All of my “Magic and Genius” of the weekend had taken away too much, so all I could do was sit. I perched on a bench and asked Matthew to mow this patch and that in the backyard. Each pass making the intentional wildness of the pond and the garden beds more pronounced, more special.

I’ve become accustomed to seeing robins at the edge of our nature pond and atop the bog filter bathing and playing. Today I looked out and saw a cardinal back there on that filter just splashing away and I felt such joy. The bog filter is a tool Matthew and I built to keep our pond clean and clear. A tool comprised of rocks and stones of varying size and texture, layered to do a job in benefit of the creatures that visit the habitat. The squirrel, the frog, our pet cats, and the koi, who thanks to the clever filter and the addition of a small heater, survived the winter and are finally warm enough to actually be playful, instead of playing coy, tucking into their blanket of leaves. 

Last weekend, for our eleventh wedding anniversary, Matt gifted me the weekly backyard journal "Leaf, Cloud, Crow" by Margaret Renkl. I had listened to her book "The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year" and I enjoyed the writing and getting to know the author very much. While I currently read "Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss" I take my time and I hear Margaret's sweet southern voice and keep her easy pace as I go. It's a nice practice for me to slow down and listen to stories.