So Shall You Reap

We have begun to allow the chickens to roam in the Garden Proper and it is probably only a matter of days before they will be allowed in the teepee garden/pumpkin patch as well. While Autumn is my favorite time of year, I can't help but be a little bit sad to see our garden decay. I had begun a little notebook of what was planted when and where and how and what I would like to change next year. I had hoped that next year we'd have more than three brussels sprouts and that Id remember to harvest the lima beans before two thirds of them were dried out. I wanted to sew in some of the Alaskan Fish Fertilizer in the Spring. I wanted to plant more pumpkins and get the nastertiums in earlier.

Next year we most likely will not be here to enjoy our garden. I know, I know, we are going to have a Whole New World open for exploration and they DO have dirt and seeds and rain and sunshine in New Zealand. (I checked.) But Im feeling the loss of my first garden.

T created the raised beds with the help of his kids and Ian and myself of course when it came down to to transporting dirt from one part of the property to the other. And we all built the teepee garden (much less wonky once T pointed out it, um, isn't supposed to look like that). My garden was a reason-for-being-outside. It was the reason I caught so many amazing sunsets and evening skies. It was a way to silently meditate in the early morning hours when little boys were still sleeping soundly in their beds. It was how and where and why I saw my first Bat Parade.

My garden (OUR garden) was a way for me to feel connected to the earth, my food, and the Universe... and my family.
It gave us (and continues to give us! Don't forget the purple potato patch!) nourishment of more than one variety. It nourished my body, heart, soul and mind.

I called it the Garden of Possibility. It lived up to its name.

So here's to my garden. May it live on, even if it has to be at the hands of another.