So what is it for you? What is that nagging task that you wish you could get to? What's on your mental to-do list that you yearn to do, but know it might never happen? Does passing it by feel like ignoring a part of you too?
For me, it's my garden. Everyday I walk by and think, "I love to garden! I need to get out here." Each day, there are other imperative parts of my life that need attention.
Until tonight! After weeks of a busy schedule, this evening arrived like a long autumnal exhale of golden, setting sun. Maybe it was the brainstorming session about wintry ways to get families outside that I was invited to this morning. Maybe it was how rejuvenated I felt after leaving that table of ten talented writers and moms who genuinely cared about getting kids outdoors. Maybe it was the reminder that it's best to bite off small chunks. My intention was to spend thirty minutes starting to put my garden to sleep by planting a cover crop that would amend our sad soil disaster. As my kids dumped out the worm bin and perfected balancing on the beds, I remembered how I had such high hopes for my garden this year.
Then, like the color changing on the leaves of our strawberry plants, I decided to change my attitude and appreciate what did happen. I remembered how my son and the neighbor's boy preferred the "berry patch" to any other part of the yard. I thought about how our children ran between the sandbox and our garden all summer. I couldn't keep them out of it. Although I was often disappointed that we did not get a single carrot, beet, collard, squash, or pumpkin, the children could have cared less. There was a handful of green beans, tomatoes and two basil plants that survived and that was garden enough for them.
While the kids were digging, planting and gallivanting, my hope was being restored. I decided to try to save some seeds for next year's sungolds. When we opened the bag of cover crop, we were astounded by the beauty of the seeds inside. I was reminded that I am a gardener and it's a gift to have the space to grow food even if it yielded the smallest harvest ever.