“This year, unlike years past, I’m finding myself gravitating towards my autumn garden more. There’s something about stepping away from my screens, my books - even the thoughts inside my head - stepping away from all of that is appealing to me.”

There is something so appealing to me about the meanings we humans give to the smallest of things.

I plant a lot of things and some of them never germinate, or get choked out by weeds, or fail to thrive in inhospitable soil. Gardeners don’t usually get bent out of shape about it.

I guess I always believed Harvest Festivals were like carnivals - full of delicious food, frivolity and family. But I think the old festivals must have also been about loss.

I’m only now realizing that I view it as a privilege to have access to garden-fresh produce in my front yard. But to my kids, that’s just life.

The funny thing about it is that, at least around here, the plants that give the most are often the ones that demand the least.

This spring, between one thing and another, boring and predictable became exactly what we were looking for.

For people like her and me, “adventure” doesn’t have the positive connotations it should.

To his mind, they might not take to their new home, but some chance is better than just throwing them out.

I’m the one who wanted the fence, but in the end it was them that built it, who caught on to the excitement and who rightfully feel the satisfaction of a job well done.

Growth doesn’t always mean getting bigger and taking up more space.

Every February, Forrest and I look at the kids and lament the screen time, the bickering, and the boredom.

There was probably something I could do to prevent the bush from dying, but it honestly never occurred to me that the rosemary wouldn’t be ok.

It feels a bit like failure for some reason, admitting that I am simply not up to processing 15 tomato plants’ worth of produce.

I’m not too picky about which flowers survive. With vegetables, I want carrots AND cucumbers AND potatoes. With flowers, I just want…flowers.

I know there is a lot of science behind the aeration and fertilizing work that worms do, but to me it seems like a strange alchemy.

If it’s a sunny spring day and I have nothing better going on, what am I supposed to do? Just not go outside and plant things? Impossible.

I will turn to houseplants for inspiration. Which means I must be really desperate because everyone knows that my house is the place where plants come to die.

They’re the Toyota Corolla of vegetables. Solid, steady, reliable. And I do appreciate them, but not nearly enough.

New years are for life before mistakes and oddities. For reflections and planning and pretty little rectangles on a perfect white piece of paper.