....a way in

Yogis,
I can’t pinpoint when Nana Camp began but I believe this was at least year five. I know it started with only my oldest grandson and then four years ago my granddaughter joined in. A summer week spent at my house.

I have been seeing research pointing to benefits children gain from relationships with grandparents. Better emotional stability, a sense of unconditional love and deeper understanding and empathy for family roots. The relationships can be live or even digital, but like any relationship, they must be lovingly built.

I always feel like Nana Camp is fertile ground for this construction.

Last week was as always….. fun filled, busy, loud, messy, funny, exhausting and filled with an incredible amount of food. How do they eat so much? But what was new this year was the add of my four year old grandson Ben, who was deemed old enough to attend.

Here was my opportunity to make my way in.

We did it all. Swimming, creek visits, puppet show, aquarium, carousel and lots of arts and crafts. We even slept out in tents again, with not nearly enough actual sleep. Yet where a foundation begins to form is in the quiet moments in between.

Sitting to build blocks. Reading him a book he picked from the little free library (Spiderman, of course). Holding his hand while crossing the street, hugging him when hurt and giving him a bath. Most importantly, introducing him to my lavender head massages at bedtime.

He would lie on his back with bright blue eyes wide open to watch. By the third night he leapt into bed knowing what was coming. Deep sleep would follow.

By day four I felt him unconsciously lean up against me while watching a show. Figuring out who I am and how I fit into his life.

I was cooking the same chicken I made for my own boys. As I got Ben out of the tub I told him he would smell the chicken. He looked at me and said, ‘Nana I like the smell of your chicken……Nana, I like all of the things in your house.’

Yes!

I’m in,
SARAH

....an empty space

Yogis,
My mom was one of three Cardoni girls. As the oldest she picked up a lot of responsibility as a teenager (like quickly learning to drive to become the family’s transportation) when her father died suddenly. Her middle sister Gloria was six years younger and the youngest a toddler.

This week Gloria died peacefully during the night…..leaving behind an empty space, not only for that family, but all of us.

Whenever we hear of a death of someone close there is that moment when time stands still. There is the time before and then the after. I still remember those moments for other passings.

As my mom's Maid of Honor

Then what follows is the flood of memories. All of them. The good and the difficult.

Gloria was larger than life with a big personality. Perhaps it was her middle child position. When in it, she commanded a room, with a big smile while she told you what to do. She laughed a lot and had her opinions. She was both my godmother and confirmation sponsor and though she gave me a bible, I can’t say we had any talks on religion, but spirituality …yes.

There was one three-year period when we lived in Atlanta at the same time as her family.  This was during my formative years of 9 to 12. Those memories run deep.

Like how she and my mom took tap dancing lessons and practiced on our stone floor in the foyer. Or the baked Alaska she would make when we were over. The time her dachshund ate my hamster, and we all lay on the couch crying, or mom watching soap operas with her when I returned from school each day. She was generous.

As a high-spirited high school English teacher she changed many young lives. I always wish I had been in her class.

But my lifelong memory is how at every opportunity, she and my mom would take the mic to sing ‘Tonight you Belong to me’ in harmony. I know, I know, you…..

At my wedding

Memories lead us to photo albums, family texts, phone calls and ultimately, peering into our own lives. Changed once again with this new empty space.

Om,
SARAH

....rain, rain, go away

Yogis,
When you go to the same spot, on the same week every year for 39 years, you are going to experience every kind of summer weather the beach has on offer.

There have been years of intense heat when everyone spends the days under umbrellas and in the water. Times when the rip currents were so bad that the red flags and watchful lifeguards kept us ankle deep all week. Thunderstorms and wind that shook the house and eight years ago when flooding was so intense  the town was pumping water out of our streets.

This year was wet.

Not all the time, but we got drenched upon arrival with buckets of rain pouring out of a lightning filled sky as we unloaded the car. At least the sand was all washed off, we didn’t need a shower…..and a rainbow framed the sky once the storm passed.

We would have a beautiful day, followed by a not so nice one. Or a windy wet morning with the clouds suddenly parting and the sun shining warm and bright all afternoon. Within minutes of the sun’s appearance the beach would fill as families poured out of houses.

Yet weather does not dampen the spirits of the 60 of us there! How could it…….

The hot tub was a crowd favorite during downpours and umbrellas allowed us to visit the turtle lake. On nice days the big hole was dug for the twenty kids to play in, the candy lady (as my friend is known) opened shop, handing out candy necklaces, crafts were made and bocce games were won and lost.   

We played group games, watched movies and took rainy beach walks. The guys fished. And there was no shortage of laughter.

We have all been doing this together for so long that that the fun comes with us regardless of the external circumstances. Isn’t that true of all of life? We can choose to either let the outer world determine our joy or we can always carry the light within us.

On Friday, like clockwork, Tim came around with the frozen pineapple pieces that had been soaking in rum all week.

A rainbow framed the sky again our last night,
SARAH

....preferences

 Yogis,
Plants have more in common with us then we often give credit for. They breathe, need water, pass down traits through DNA and have a communication network. They also have preferences, as we do, to where they want to set down roots.

For humans, there are those who prefer to settle in the sunny south while others are much more at home in the cold. Some want desert and some feel naked without the cover of trees. Plants too have likes and dislikes and as a gardener it sometimes takes them showing me time after time before I finally get it!

Let’s take mullein as an example. I wanted mullein when I formed my medicine wheel garden since she was used medicinally by native Americans. I spread seeds. I transplanted seedlings from friends. Over and over without luck.

This year one showed up with no effort or fanfare in my gravel driveway. She is a beauty. Clearly, she likes rocky soil. Got it.

The exact same thing happened with Queen Anne’s Lace. Once I finally recognized her coming up each summer, I allowed a small patch to develop in an area we don’t park. She reminds me of my NJ childhood. I remember picking them to put in vases (some things never change……)

Then there are tomatoes. Several years ago I grew cherry tomatoes from seed. Every year since then I have multiple volunteers that come up around my garden to produce fruit. I never have to plant new ones. I even transplant one to a pot on my deck. Thank you, Universe!

One though always ends up surprising me somewhere in the driveway. This year she selected a spot next to the recycle bin.  She is looking quite happy and I expect to be picking tomatoes soon.

Now that’s recycling.

Others, like forget-me-nots, prefer edges. I start them in the garden, but as they reseed, they inch closer and closer to the edge, eventually spilling over the rocks that make my border. Like wild spirited people, they don’t want to be contained.

Plants help me understand humans better too.

Om,
SARAH

....every day

Yogis,
Morning has always been my favorite time of day. This weekend was no different.

We spent the holiday at our beach place. The 4^th of July is notorious for being jam packed. Hard to park, hard to get into restaurants, hard to find room for your chair on the beach. Yet morning remains peaceful.

This morning I headed out the door at 7:30. Although every available inch of our street was lined with parked cars, it seemed the owners were still in bed. Only a rabbit crossed my path, who I believe is the one eating my new plantings down to stubs.

Arriving at the beach closest to our house there are a few walkers and a lone fisherman who tells me he has gotten a few small spot and kingfish. Fathers walking down with carts filled with chairs and umbrellas to claim a spot.

I pause to try to capture the glimmer on the ocean’s surface and the seagulls who rest on a jetty as they wait for the French fry stand to open. All the while asking the Universe for a topic for this note.

As I near the boardwalk the crowd thickens.  Soon it is wall to wall blankets, and I hear a bullhorn in the distance. Then I see them. Lifeguards out on boards overseeing swimmers making their way to shore. A biathlon!

I watch the final group emerge from a half mile swim and head to the start of the 5k run. Flags were flying and cowbells were ringing. A large finish line with a clock towering over the boardwalk waiting for its first finisher.

I mixed in with the crowd to cheer on the first runner who was flying. A large festive crowd at only 8 o’clock on a Sunday morning.

I know what to write.

Every morning I leave the house and every morning I see something I wasn’t expecting. An unusual bird, a tree in full bloom, a friendly fisherman…..a biathlon.

The reminder I need that every single day is unique. No day I ever have will be exactly like this one. So I don’t want to miss it!

As I get back to the house it is as quiet as I left it.

Stay open for the unexpected,
SARAH

.....tear down

Yogis,
Another fabulous week at the Jersey shore. I had all three of my boys, my daughter in-laws, all five grandchildren and my parents together under one roof for three of the nights. What’s better than that!

This end of June tradition has been ongoing for the past forty years. Many years but several different houses.

There is a running joke that we stay in a house until the bulldozer pulls up to take it down. A joke yet true. We find a house, settle in and rebook for the next year the day we check out. Year after year…..until the owners decide to sell

We know what happens next. It is torn down and replaced with something twice its size with all the new bells and whistles. We also know it is time to move on.

We stay in ‘tear downs.’

There was the beachfront with an old grand piano in the wood paneled living room, one with a picture window literally in the dunes but also armies of ants, or the one where you had to duck coming down the stairs (which my father inevitably forgot to do and knocked himself out).

What is most important to our family is location, location, location. Beach block is critical as we are the hub for the rest of the family to store chairs and umbrellas. We act as the restroom and with unlocked doors people can sneak back for a break from sun or socializing.  

We also want an old simple house with lots of bedrooms and plenty of deck space. No fancy landscaping for us! We rent homes that still have stones as lawn, allowing us to play ‘rock in bucket’. A family favorite!

All week we observed the beautiful home next door with its pool, gorgeous balcony couches and 6 person golf carts. Beach chairs professionally set up daily while we schlepped everything on our backs.

My grandson and I were sitting on plastic, yet comfortable, chairs on the wood deck. With no prompt, he proclaimed our house was perfect. We didn’t need all the fancy extras because we like to spend our time outside and at the beach.

He gets it,
SARAH

.....kickoff

Yogis,
Every month brings its own unique gifts, and everyone has months they favor. Although I like them all, June is pretty incredible.

Ahhhh June. How to even begin….. I’ll start at the beginning when my alarm goes off quite early. It is light out! That only happens in a short window each year. I walk Phoebe in the light. I run in the light. And with early morning being my favorite time of day, it’s a bonus!

I meander through the garden. All my truly heavy lifting is complete. Seeds sown, plants in the ground and mulch laid. Everyone looking healthy and happy and growing inches as I sleep. The zinnias I started indoors are now budding, showing off what color flowers I grew from last year’s saved seeds. It’s always a surprise. Pumpkin plants sprout from where I buried last year’s small pumpkins in fallen leaves.

The fox walks by while the hummingbird visits the feeder. A butterfly arrives.

I look at our coat rack this weekend and realize that I can FINALLY put away the jackets. They suddenly look so out of place. I walk out the door without thinking now, knowing my knees and arms can be free.

It’s June when I begin filling my water bottle with mint and lemon (Nana water they call it). I have my first corn on the cob, always making extra so I can scrape off kernels to use in bean salads. Eating cherries.

School is ending. Shrieks of children’s outdoor birthday parties and kids riding bikes fill the air. We begin to plan for our first beach vacation by washing beach chairs and umbrellas. My skin already sun kissed from time spent in the garden. The sun is the star of June’s show.  

June acts as the kickoff for summer. Highlighting what lies ahead.

Thunderstorms, bare feet, bats, sitting on the deck and my favorite – the summer solstice.  

As I lie down to sleep at the end of the day there is still light in the sky. I roll to my side and witness the first of the June lightening bug shows.

Gushingly grateful for June,
SARAH

....another level

Yogis,
It begins early. I open an eye and see 5:03 am. The sky only beginning to lighten. Through the open window I hear it loud and clear.

A robin has landed in a tree branch and is singing her heart out. Nonstop for the next fifteen minutes. Is it possible for something to be both joyful and an annoyance? That is how it felt. I drift back to sleep.

How did I know it was a robin? A few years ago I wouldn’t. I would have thought there is a bird. That was before I set the intention to learn bird songs.

I knew the obvious of course. The owl. The crow and the seagull. The mourning dove. Yet when I got to most others it all sounded like pleasant but indistinguishable noise in the air. There, but without a connection.

I began looking for the bird when a sound caught my ear. Once I could see it and watch their mouth create the song, I had a better chance of remembering. Then I heard of Merlin.

A free app that listens to identify bird noises. Suddenly I could choose to learn anytime and anywhere, even when the bird was out of sight. But it was still a process to be aware enough to notice ….. turn on the app…..get an id and try to find a place in my brain to store it.

Slowly (very slowly) though, a shift started. I think it was the blue bird who helped. Every now and then I would be gardening and think ‘a bluebird is nearby.’ A recognition arising without effort. Then it was the robin. Later, the cardinal.

I was always amazed by people who stop and say, ‘do you hear the woodpecker?’  I thought what they did was impossible, but soon the impossible began to manifest.

I still have a long way to go but it’s as if a whole new level of life is revealing itself. The sounds above have thrown down a cable on which to connect. I imagine it similar to becoming fluent in another language.

I am not sure I am explaining it well, but I am again reminded of the infinite layers open to a human existence.

This morning it was the cardinal,
SARAH

....a name

Yogis,
I had an epiphany today.

Every since I started removing English Ivy in earnest on my side slope, native groundcovers have been arriving. Any time I see someone new in the yard I use my plant identifier app to ID it. It gives me common name, botanical name and whether the plant is native to my region..

As long as it falls in the native column, I do a bit more research and most often welcome it with open arms. Black snakeroot is one such plant.

Yet every time I go out and see her and try to remember the name, I can’t. I know the plant by sight. I know its growing pattern, how it spreads, what it likes. I know the plant but can’t remember the name.

The same thing happens every spring as I run the river paths. This morning alone I had to identify the names of 4 different plants that I have become friends with over the years. Each time I am like, ‘of course!’ but don’t ask me again next week.

I know the plants’ essence. I know the personality.  I just can’t remember the name.

It wasn’t until this morning as I did this process yet again that I had a flash of knowing. I am exactly the same way with people!

When I meet you, I am so focused on your eyes, your energy and the way you move. The name is arbitrary to my brain. A minor detail. I hear it, repeat it……and off it flies. The next time I see you, I do know you. I remember you. I don’t forget ‘you’, but have to pray I don’t need to use your name.

I heard in a podcast lately about how language can be a barrier in many ways to our empathy and connection to the natural world. Even at times to each other (think about if someone has a name you dislike from a past experience).

Every label we attach to something drags along stories, judgments and associations, instantly limiting its innate unlimited potential. Children don’t know the labels yet, giving them the freedom to embrace everything and everyone.

Eventually I do remember their name and yours,
SARAH

.....a reminder

Yogis,
I’ve had geese on the mind. As a family with goose history, it has been coming up in conversations. Like when my son was bitten in the butt by one while innocently offering bread. Or times we have been hissed at or chased. And it’s always this time of year because this is when yellow fuzzy goslings emerge from their shells.

With that as the backdrop…….I went for a morning beach run on Tuesday. A spectacular blue skied day. Running along the tide line, I kept getting urges to stop and sit. You know, the inner voice that makes a suggestion. Or that sudden sensation that gives guidance. One would arise. I would consider it and promptly push it back down.

It felt appealing to sit with warm sun on my face, but I would talk myself out of it. I will be in people’s path. I’ll do it later in the run. Etc.

I head through town and cut over to the lake. I spot the bench that faces the water and the urge speaks up again. OK. This time I’ll listen.

Sitting quietly noticing the beautiful greenery, I didn’t see them coming until they were at my side. A mom and dad goose with three goslings. Certain I was going to be hissed at, I sat perfectly still, figuring they would pass on by.

They didn’t. About three feet in front of me the mom and babies lay down while dad stood guard.

I slowly slid my phone out to take pictures. They cared not. Mom groomed herself while the goslings huddled for a quick nap. Dad occasionally looked over his shoulder to keep me on my toes.

What a gift! The whole experience gave me goosebumps…. in a good way! It acted as a much needed reminder.

I get caught up in forward movement. Heading toward and looking for experiences. Those urges I had received were to be still, because when you are still, the experiences come to you. Miracles are always all around us waiting for us to get quiet. To be here.

On Sunday I did the same thing with my granddaughter, and of course it happened again.

Be still to be awed,
SARAH

....sandwich generation

Yogis,
Have you heard of it? Typically the generation in their 50’s who have aging parents and their own children. With everyone living longer though, it seems like the tuna salad sandwich has become a BLT with multiple layers.

Looking at my own life I help out with grandchildren, children and parents. This weekend I had the gift of 3 days with my mom.

Every year my dad travels to his ‘guys’ running, drinking, and generally being a teenager again, weekend. My mom either stays with my sister or I go up to be with her. This was my year.

We talked on the phone several times to discuss what we might want to do. On arrival, we kicked around options. We would prepare breakfasts and lunches together. She would cook dinner Friday, I would handle Saturday, and Sunday we obviously deserved to go out.

Friday evening included cocktails and watching Jeopardy.

Saturday, going to the movies sounded great since neither of us seem to go anymore. A quick read of reviews and we settled on The Sheep Detectives. A family friendly charming movie that I recommend. We even took advantage of the reclining seats in the theater.

We worked on the NYT crossword puzzle together. Reminisced about our past. Walked down to visit her neighbor and watched the Yankees. Even attended my niece’s graduation online. We took Phoebe to walk in a park and even though she had put her sneakers on, mom decided sitting on the bench with another woman was more appealing. The two of them looked like long lost friends in minutes.

My mom is fun.

This weekend reminded me of time with my grandkids. That same unstructured, see what we want to do at the time, kind of days. A relaxed approach to life that keeps you much more aware and present. No ‘have tos’ or ‘shoulds’. A lifestyle that is hard to have with our own children.

Finding myself as maybe the tomato layer in the sandwich now, I realize it is not a bad place to be.

I realize how lucky I am to have my mom,
SARAH

 

.....matriarchy

Yogis,
Spring clean up has begun on the community flower gardens along our town’s main street. Last week was our annual mulching event where those of us who garden and volunteers gather for a few hours of spreading.

During the event I became aware of something.

It started when one of the women showed up with her broom. An old-fashioned corn broom. She promptly positioned herself toward the back of the group. As we completed a section she would come behind, sweeping away what fell in the path and tidying up the garden edges.

Ah, I see. She is the ‘sweeper’ in the group. I am not the sweeper. It never occurred to me to bring a broom or take on that role.

A few other women brought straight metal rakes. They would ask for a pile of mulch to be dumped and they would smooth it out across the area. Again….not me. I am a ‘down on my knees, hands in the dirt’ mulching type. No gloves, of course.

The woman who organizes the event drives the small tractor that carries the cans of mulch from the truck to the gardens. With a no-nonsense approach, she bee lines back and forth and you better watch your toes. The perfect role for her that she returns to year after year.  She keeps things moving and points out issues. But is she in charge? No. No one is boss.

Were there men? Yes, of course. They instinctively took jobs of loading and unloading large cans and wheelbarrows of mulch. Always asking where and when to dump.

A well-oiled machine. I realized I was watching a matriarchy in process.

Another great example......

A matriarchy does not simply mean we put women in charge. That doesn’t change the triangle shape of patriarchy that our culture, society and economy are built on. A matriarchy is in the shape of a circle. All working together. To shift to this takes a deep structural change, not just a change in personnel.

And what is in the center of the circle? Children, elderly and vulnerable.

Mulching made this all so much clearer.

Craving a circle,
SARAH

....crow

Yogis,
When a crow flies over a large shadow is cast. That’s how I noticed them. It seemed that each time I looked out the window, a shadow was sweeping across my garden.

Now I have always had crows around. Typically they come in groups for any leftovers under the birdfeeder. They stay a bit and head out. But this was different, so I began to pay attention.

I noticed one would fly from my woods and over the house. A short time later it would return, disappearing into the treetops. The kind of rhythmic back and forth that indicates an impending addition to the family unit. I had never given much thought to nesting habits of crows.

Soon it began landing on my birdbath on its trips. Looking a bit silly perched with big talons on such a small bath, it would drink, dunk its head and even thrust its neck to send water down its back. That old birdbath has been a haven to many.

One morning I watch it bring a large hunk of bread and begin dunking it in and out. Soon the bread broke into smaller pieces. It ate a few and took the remaining chunk back to the woods. Ah, babies must have arrived. This became the new ritual. Arrive with food, wash and soften it and then head home.

This makes for a very dirty bird bath.

The other day I went out to clean it and saw an unusual gray pile in the center. Grabbing a stick I poke it. Yikes! It was the remains of a frog. I had no idea they ate frogs. Indeed they do, along with mice, bird eggs and of course, trash. Since that day I have found various, what I can only refer to as guts, of different creatures. Sometimes the crow returns to retrieve them. Other times it is me scooping them out.

Did you know crows are one of the few birds that understand and reciprocate with gift giving?  I have set up a stone with different trinkets on offer. While they keep getting knocked off, none have been taken. Perhaps once the babies fledge they will have more time on their hands.

Getting to know crows,
SARAH

.....a box

Yogis,

It’s about 6 inches by 6 inches with no top. Gray. A wood box I believe was the base for a gift I received. Once empty I decided it was one of those ‘boxes I have no idea what I will use it for, but too good to throw away’ kind. On to the metal gardening shelf in the garage it went.

That was two years ago.

Last year I walked in to discover an adorable nest built inside the box. Twigs, leaves, moss…..and one of my gardening gloves……all woven together in a perfect round. I kept my eye on it but nothing more happened. No eggs. No bird.

Two weeks ago, it caught my eye again for some reason and I took a couple pictures. It appeared to be at a slightly different angle. Didn’t give it much thought as I pulled down the garage door to head for the beach.

On Monday’s return the door is rolled up. Tuesday morning, I walk in to get my new gloves. Looking down I find two eyes peering out at me. Oh my! Hello! A Carolina wren is nestled deep in the hole, clearly sitting on eggs.  I guess the door will not be going down any longer.

This time of year I am knee deep in gardening chores. Cleaning beds, spreading compost, adding trellises, all which require numerous loud trips in and out of the garage and right past miss wren.

I let her know I am coming in a calm voice, often with the whistle I have used in the yard for years, hopeful she knows there is no danger. I check on her often with my binoculars through the back windows.

I look it up and their tendency is to nest in manmade objects like boots, jacket pockets, or wreathes on the front door. Perhaps they consider human movement another layer of protection in the precarious role of mothering baby birds. I will do my best.

There are an infinite number of things I love about spring. One is that a nondescript box can become a source of wonder and hope overnight.

My own mothering instincts on high alert,
SARAH

....color

Yogis,

I think it began with an ad on my Facebook feed. Or maybe that is when I first noticed. A woman is setting a table. As she lifts a flowered tablecloth, it is caught by a breeze and spreads over the table. A nostalgic paisley print that could have been on my nana’s table at one time.

It caught my eye because it had color.

Then my 20^th Pottery Barn catalog of 2026 arrived. Typically, I fan the pages before heading to the bin. This one was different. The bedroom on the front cover had a floral duvet and curtains…..and green wallpaper! This time I sat down and went through page by page.

Upholstery, pillows and dinnerware in multiple hues of blues and greens. Flowers in vases and butterfly patterns on napkins. Be still my heart.

A reel on Instagram knew exactly what I was thinking (scary isn’t it?) and asked ‘when did the world lose its color.’

I looked it up and the aesthetics of palettes in beige, then gray and evolving to ‘greige’ in home décor began twenty years ago. New homes built are white and black. There are many theories. One is that our digital world is so bright, colorful and fast paced that we look for its absence in our refuge.

Yet everything changes if you give it time. Could it be happening?

My personal taste has always been for some color. When we moved into this house everyone expected me to paint the great room, with its expansive walls and sky high ceiling, a shade of white. No. I selected deep butterscotch. My architect rolled his eyes but I love it to this day. To me, walking into a room with a peaceful color is like getting a hug. Warm. Cozy.

My sister and I were reminiscing about the cars we learned to drive on. Funny stories surfaced about the navy blue Ford LTD we each got to have turns with. She was boat sized and had a ruby red interior. Pulling the front bench seat up made the back seat big enough for a party. So, of course, there was one.

Maybe in these times we need the return of color.

Om,
SARAH

.....the return

Yogis,
They are coming back! One by one they show up. A peek of green here… a flash of yellow there. Buds begin to swell on stems that have sat bare for months.

My plant friends are beginning to return. Friends? What makes someone or something a friend? 

For me friends should be dependable companions and good listeners. Check. I can count on echinacea to return year after year. I move a handful of leaves the third week of March, and there she is, waving up from the ground. She will be with me in the garden until I once again need a sweater.

Hi! Great to see you!

Friends should uplift you when you are low. So many of them come to mind here. Zinnias, lemon balm and snapdragon. Bright and cheerful yet never overbearing or taking themselves too seriously. 

They should bring calm when you are anxious. No one does this better than lavender. She is a quiet presence. Her soft leaves and simple flowers make life seem a bit easier. Less complicated. And her fragrance pulls me to bury my nose and take a full breath. Ahhhh.

And good friends are low maintenance and helpful. Great blue lobelia fits the bill nicely. As a native she shows up each spring. Her needs are low even on the driest days of summer and she spreads her seeds prolifically. Gifting me with more plants at no cost!

At the end of the day, the foundation of a solid friendship is when it is built on a reciprocal relationship. Everything about nature involves reciprocity, if you allow it. I help keep the soil healthy, remove invasives, offer water and give them my attention. In return I receive beauty, oxygen and butterflies. Herbs for my salts. Cuttings for my vases. The more I give, the more I get back……. Plants surprise me with an arrival. Mint offers to flavor my water after an hour of sweaty weeding.

I touch their leaves, talk to them openly and truly enjoy their company. Yes, they are friends and I am happy to see them again!

Don’t even get me going on my bug friends,
SARAH 

...it's not time

Yogis,
I really should practice what I preach.

Each March I share with anyone who will listen what I learned about what should be done in the yard/garden at this stage. In a nutshell, not a lot.

The bugs, butterflies and bees have their eggs buried beneath the fallen leaves, along dried plant stems and in wood piles. Many even overwinter themselves nestled into these areas. Rake and clean up too early and you are removing all of the biodiversity from your own little slice of nature.

This is also the time where birds and squirrels are feeding on the dried berries, nuts and seeds on last year’s growth to build strength and gathering dried leaves and brush to start preparing homes for their soon to arrive offspring. Taking it all away means they have no reason to settle there.

Yet on our first balmy day as I opened the windows to smell the earth the urge to ‘clean up’ hit hard. Well, I’ll just pull some of the invasives before they begin to grow again in earnest, I told myself.

Down on my knees I go as I pull the vinca I had planted in the early days before I knew of her desire to overreach. Reaching in I move the layer of fallen leaves and dig my fingernails beneath the dirt to be sure to get each section by the root. I’m almost done and feeling so productive when I feel a thorn in my finger. In a blink of an eye I know it isn’t a thorn. I pull my hand out to find a poor lethargic bee attached, doing her best to send me away.

It worked and my fingers felt like sausages in tight casings for several days. I apologized and tucked her back in.

It is still winter.

I go back to doing what can be done now. Picking up fallen sticks on the lawn. Trimming back old leaves on the Lenten rose plants. My earliest bloomer. Walking around to remind myself who I have and where I spread seeds in fall. And visualizing what is to come.

It’s not time yet,
SARAH