I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. It is oddly invigorating to dig, trim, and work with trees and plants. I did it again yesterday and I’ll do it again today. Yesterday I removed deadwood from the Yaupon Holly and dug up errant lantanas and hackberries in the garden at the east end of the house. I also noticed that the Orchid tree is an aggressive tree, with lots of sprouts and seeds. I’ll have to study containment measures.

Meanwhile, I’ll continue terraforming my little piece of earth. Growing things, moving things, making sense of things. In addition to my gardens and my yards, there are lots of changes going on around me these days with people, places and things. Over time I’ve found the best way to deal with any change is to just sit tight and be quiet and wait to see how it all shakes out, see where the pieces end up. And I’m pretty good at sitting tight and being quiet.

And one of the things I really have come to consider is this little operation. It started out with me talking about my life in the gardens, moved to life with dementia, then segued into life with grief, then back to the gardens. A ten year journey. But now that I’m back in the gardens, it’s all starting to feel a little constrained, put on, artificial. I think I’ve fallen into the trap of writing for my audience, such as it is, rather than writing for me, and that’s really no way to write, especially at my age when I might only count my tomorrows on one hand. I need to back up a bit and take another run at the task.