So in true form, I’ve been a hermit.  I realize it’s almost been six months since my last post about the garden, but there’s been something holding me back from writing–not something negative per say, just a need to be still, to not engage with text, to simply let things happen as they need to.

Our house is almost finished.  It’s been a long time waiting for it to finally get to the stage of moving in, but the final touches are happening over the next few weeks and with any luck we will be able to move in by the end of February, which means that there won’t be a long drive over to the yard but instead I’ll get out of bed, lift my curtains, and look out my window.  I’ve held off on buying seeds for now because I don’t want to order on the off chance that they’ll end up being delivered to the wrong address, but I am keeping an eye on the gladiolas in my closet that will have to be cleaned up before putting into the ground.

And I’ve been saving seeds!  Tomato plants, a couple of kinds of squash, and some geraniums that happened to go to seed (who knew if you didn’t pinch off the flowers they oblige so nicely and give you seed!).  This is also going to be the year that I try square foot gardening in the hugelkulture  beds that I set up in the back yard.  Which also means, I’m going to have to let my brother’s friend know we will need his chainsaw to remove the lilac overgrowth.

Did I mention I discovered how stringy old growth lilac wood is?  I actually thought that in taking a couple of hedge clippers and a hand saw, I’d be able to clear out the lilac wood in just a matter of a couple of days.  After an hour on one of about 450-500 (I’m guessing) thick trunks I realized that I was going to need something mechanical, a truck to haul the excess wood away, and hoped that I wouldn’t need the opportunity to get in touch with humility through a lilac stump ever again.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m excited at the prospect of being so close to the space that I’ve grown so fond of.  I’d also be lying if I didn’t say that the prospect of leaving the safety of the home we’ve had for so long wasn’t a little bit daunting.  Transitions are difficult when they mean shaking the safety of physical places for other physical spaces.  Why I don’t just accept the possibility of having that safety within my own heart, I’ll never know.  It takes so much practice to keep that in mind, consistently in mind, and not revert into that jelly mess of panic and anxiety and fear.

I wonder if seeds feel this way before they leave the packets?