I built this blog last spring. It seemed an appropriate time. The leaves on the trees were unfurling. Flowers were pushing up through the earth. I was about to make a tremendous life change.
In late May, I finished my work for my previous job and had time to really think about my future ventures. I had some broad ideas of what I wanted to accomplish: write, garden, maybe get back to painting. But what were my specific goals? Write what? Garden where, how and why? These were good, practical things to consider, but they quickly descended into less than productive thoughts. Do I really have anything to say? What do I know about horticulture? Why should I get this opportunity when there are so many talented people in the world?
I've been stuck in that whirlpool on and off for months.
Despite that, my summer was a busy one. I was obsessed with my garden, expanding both my beds and my knowledge. I planned and hosted a largish, pandemic-appropriate family gathering. I spent two-weeks with my husband and sons driving a bison obstacle course as we RVed around Yellowstone. I started sketching again (no painting yet). AND I turned fifty.
I've also come to the conclusion, that I need to stop overthinking and just do. It's very likely that no one (or very few) will ever read this. And that's OK. A wide audience isn't really the point. It's about creating a space to process, record and share with the few this journey I'm on. That doesn't really require tremendous literary or horticulture value.
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