A scene within the scene of the sun; a traveling therapist sets up a canopy to shade his customers.  Going from place to place, he offers rest and growth.  He helps you see yourself and change.

Go meet him if you're ready.  When seeking help you must prepare for change.  Nervous but expectant, you go.  Out into, you enter.  Shock hits you, but you brace and accept it.  The therapist works, an army of gentle soldiers come falling from the heavens, driving out stress with a hum.

Face the treatment, look upward.  They fall on your face, wake you to feel.  A million little soldiers tap your skin.  You are real.  You can feel.  You are able for something right now.

When his schedule is in order, he is timely, but does not over stay his welcome.  Each town he visits bids him come again before too long.  The ground thanks him for his transformation.  His reputation precedes him, always powerful, always somber.  Without talk he works.  The world and his patients brace to bear the discomfort of treatment.  All is new by the time he is gone.

Spring.  Spring, spring, spring!

I love the sun.  The sun follows the pattern.  The sun is consistent.  Those fickle clouds can hide it when they want, but they can't keep it from angling higher northward in the sky and rising earlier each spring day to vanquish the cold of morning and winter.

Literal tons of snow covered the ground, and lay in mountains not long ago.  I often pondered what it would take to remove one of those piles.  A bulldozer?  A jack hammer?  A crane?  And what damage would the grass and earth suffer?  What repair would it need?  Ah, but the sun!  Leave it to the sun and watch your mountain turn hill turn mound turn bump turn popsicle turn frisbee field, all in a matter of days.  The sun is timely. The sun vanquishes.  The sun stays.  The sun penetrates.  The sun transforms.  It even gardens.

Dawn in spring, my alarm clock from apathy and sleep.  My dreamlike visitor calls my name aloud in the silence of my mind, and beckons me out, out, into the newborn day, come and talk, come weep, come sing, come awaken to new life once again.  In my dreamy haze, I do not see myself donning jeans and tennis shoes.  The woman rushing out has no stained work coat, messy hair or baggy eyes, no.  The voice of the sun creates another picture, of fairy land and princesses.  Long, flowing golden locks swish back on the glowing white night gown and silk-lined cape, as the mysterious someone calls her out to the shadowy mist, for love and everything noble, gentle, and grand.

That soft, piercing pink-orange glow, it somehow forgets all dirt and warts and spring mess.  Instead, the heart, the life, the beauty and curves and lines and contrasts and shadows explode!  Enchantment is reality, and passion beyond measure is everywhere.  The heart of a thing is exposed, and it glows so bright its casing vanishes as the glass of a bulb.  Instantly all people are connected, unhidden, related, helped and hurt, indifferent or zealous, but all flowing together one a river of time.  As the voice of the sun shines in my mind, it does in others, my distant neighbors across the fields, the acquaintances in nearby towns, lost friends a world away.  They seem near, they seem alive and people once again.  Their hearts beat and their days flow as mine, they are one small prayer, one thought, one tear away.

On canvas the sun is hard to recreate.  I think of orange and yellow and the sharp painful light, to which you shield your eyes.  My paints are insufficient.  A bit of yellow mixed with white, the color of lilies, a pale easter yellow, eggshell, then white.  Where is the glow?  Where is the sharpness?  How large must the white be to seem brighter in the center?  It occurs to me that the effect of one's lashes as they shield their eyes plays a part in how brightness appears, but also -- and what I discovered in time to paint it -- was contrast.  The sun's distinguishing characteristic is it's far superior brightness than anything around it.  It's light is the source of all color and shape on the earth.  So the edges of my canvas took on reds and oranges and dark yellows, fading and brightening and reaching straight and unwavering toward one point.  That point, that whiteness had the palest yellow poking into it, reaching, but being extinguished next to the outstretching ball of whiteness.  The effect turned out pretty good, but still nothing compared to the true sun, the cradle and blankets in which God placed this small earth.

I sat here in the kitchen of our farm home, fiddling on my computer in the quietness of night.  Suddenly from the quiet I heard, skuttle, scratch...then quiet...then skuttle scratchity, then the tiniest squeery-squeery-squeak-squeak breaking the silence and sending shivers through me.  The mice were back.

Earlier today I'd seen one scamper across the floor and under the dishwasher, but it had been several hours, and I'd all but forgotten about them.  Now they were relentless.  Scratching and squeaking and scratching and squeaking...every few minutes pulling me into the pantry to investigate.  Every time looking and searching thoroughly, I found nothing.  I finally assumed they were in the box of paper bags, tried but failed to find a mousetrap, alerted Dan, and returned to the table.

 Sritchy scratchy...no, no.  It's okay.  Dan will handle it later.  Back to work.  squeaky squeak...oy, I hope they don't find food somewhere.  Then it happened.  Aha!  On the counter a mouse had inwittingly revealed himself -- amid the bread, no less!  Now I'd had it.  Forming a standoff with Mr. Mouse in the corner of the counter, behind the bread basket, I stared him down and would not let him escape.  At the same time I picked up the phone and dialed Dan, upstairs in his office, to come down to help immediately.  He did, and with long thick gloves, a rustle and some awful squeaks, he had caught him in his gloved hands.  I rushed to open the door for him, and way out in the snow the mouse went.  Victory!  Back to work.

Ten minutes later: scritchy scratchy scrawl scrawl.  Oh, no!  Is this another one, or the same mouse! On the counter again.  A stand off, a call, a few strategically placed countertop items, a brave husband and some mouse violence that thankfully did not go through the glove, and out again...or perhaps to keep his friend company.

Ten minutes later yet: more scratchig and a flash of brown and a tail runs behind the toaster.  Really?  This is beginning to be routine.  A call, a tussle, but no!  He slipped behind the stove and we lost him in the pantry.  More waiting.

In the pantry the noise stops, then picks up when all is quiet.  I'll leave him be.  Then, Uh-oh.  I can't believe it!  In the breadbasket, crawling around the bread!  It keeps getting worse!  Another call, another tussle, and way way out this time, halfway down the driveway he went, to find a new home in the woods.

Several hours later and no sounds.  Perhaps we threw three mice brothers out, perhaps one very hungry one.  We'll never know.  But it sure was a rush!  Never underestimate the importance and glee of excitement in marriage and home life...even if it does give you the jitters.

Looming weather forecasts all week, leading up to Eddy's anticipated weekend at Aunty Lindsey's.  We headed out a bit anxious of what was before us, but the storm held off long enough to get Eddy safely to Rochester, and the two of us safely to our farm home in Afton.  That night was calm, and lovely.  A long snowy walk in a field, talk of carols and sleighs and mice scampering by, a swing on the tire, a snow battle, and a warm fire inside.

The next day was a bit more threatening.  Snow and more snow, until we were worried about our planned drive to Eau Claire for a dinner party and serving at church in the morning.  A bit more time and our worries were put at rest.  No, the storm did not calm down: it got worse!  Our dinner party called to cancel on us, and church emailed throughout the evening to say, 1st) Saturday night service canceled, 2nd) Sunday morning services canceled, 3rd) Sunday night meeting canceled.  Off the hook there!  We had only to stay snuggled inside and wait for the sun.

On TV was only news and weather, and the very important rescheduling of the Vikings game on account of the weather.  A thousand stranded travelers slept at the airport that night.  Plows and trucks and cars lodged themselves into snow banks and ditches all across the state.  The hired plow guy (and every other plow) worked all night, even stopping at our driveway 3 times throughout the night.  But the morning sun brought the biggest surprise.

A veritable sea of white had swallowed the ground we once knew.  Swirls and tide pools and huge crested waves gleamed in the light.  Tables and stairs and benches and anything else outdoors seemed to be sinking.  It was beautiful, and shocking, and awe inspiring, and exciting -- especially when we saw on the news that it was the biggest snowfall around here on record.  When you yourself are safe and warm, you can't help but smile at being part of history like that.  I, personally, have been wanting a little more snow.  Well, I got it.

We surveyed the damage and work and heroic rescue scenes on our way back down to Rochester.  Many roads still harbored a thick layer of snow to be navigated.  Snow so often blew across the highways that there were often hidden ice tracks, from all the previous travelers.  Vehicles of every kind littered the sides of the roads.  We got to Lindsey's and the "snow mountain" the kids liked to slide on had tripled in size.  We greeted the family, gathered Eddy, and headed back toward Eau Claire.  We could only guess what would be in store for us there.

There were wheel tracks through a somewhat plowed end of the driveway, until we got to where it split between our neighbor's house and ours.  There we saw a wall.  The wind chill was so cold Dan didn't want me to even carry Eddy through the snow to our house.  We drove to the neighbors and he walked to find the tractor.  About an hour later he called us home, with only a very narrow tunnel to get the car through.  We got to the house and he stayed out half the night plowing, coming in to warm up, going back out.  The next morning saw him out again on the plow, and Eddy and me with our shovels doing the walks, and porches, and everything else covered in snow.

Now with extra winter insulation, cool snow walls around each path, and gigantic mountains, we can warm up and enjoy the bounty God has given us this year.  I'm pretty sure it will be a white Christmas.

Late last night we experienced a really strong thunderstorm, lightening and thunder in loud, fast succession, pelting rain and hail, and tons of wind.

Eddy ran into our room and declared, "I'm scared."  At first we popped him in our bed until it quieted outside a little (about half an hour), and sent him back to his room.  Ten minutes later, back he came.  "It's scary."  We hugged him and sent him to bed.  Ten minutes later, pat pat pat.  Here he comes again.
     "I'm scared."
     "It'll be okay, sweetie."
     "Oh, I'll be fine."  And he turned around and went to bed =)

Soon after, it got really bad.  Dan went to check the weather, and to make sure his equipment and product were safe.  Eddy and I were going to snuggle in bed until four words from Dan popped me out of bed with Eddy and blanket in arm faster than you'd think is possible at that hour.  "Could be a tornado."  We decided to wait downstairs.

The thunder got louder.  The lightening got faster.  So fast, in fact, I had to shut my eyes from the strobe light effect.  Eddy was scared.  I held him on a cushy chair and tried to stay calm.  Dan didn't come in.  The storm was really loud.  I've never been in a tornado before.  He said it is extremely loud and comes without warning.  Will we have time to run outside to the cellar if it comes?  Will that put us in danger of this close lightening?  I couldn't take it any longer and popped out of the chair with Eddy.  I was ready to head out to the cellar when I looked through the door on the porch and spotted Dan, sitting at the computer.  I exhaled.  Finally.

Dan was examining the weather radar in expert fashion, having studied meteorology and practiced "reading the skies" sensibly for his business for years.  Boy, was I relieved.  He was safe.  He was right by us.  He wasn't worried.  Best yet, he wasn't doing anything drastic.  The storm must be okay.  We'll wait for a word from him.  I sank into the chair, this time with truly comforting words for Eddy, because I was comforted.

"It'll be okay.  Mommy's right here.  I've got you.  Daddy's right here.  He'll protect us.  God loves us, and he's bigger than any storm."  We sat peaceful and quiet until Dan came in.

Apparently there were tiny dots of storms speckled from the twin cities all the way down to Iowa.  The 5-mile speckle we were in was one of the worst, but it would soon pass.  No tornado warnings or watches.  No hail large enough to damage anything.  Back to bed we went.

Pat, pat pat, in our room came Eddy again.  Still too scary.  2:30am now.  Dan just wanted sleep.  Eddy wasn't going to leave, so I pulled him in bed.  Dan jumped right out and retreated to the guest room.

I figured Eddy would wonder why so I explained, "Daddy had to leave because he can't sleep when you wiggle so much."
     Eddy's head sprang up. "It's okay mommy.  It's not a problem."

He got sent back as soon as the thunder quieted.

Oh, and look at that!  Another one of our trees got split in half.  This one landed on our neighbor's cow pasture. No wonder that thunder was so loud.  It sure was close.

BEFORE

AFTER

I walked toward the greenhouse and spotted something brown in our field.  Could it be...turkeys?  Dan mentioned they liked to hang out there, but I'd never gotten close enough to get a good look.  I quickly and stelthily ran through the greenhouse ducking behind blackberry bushes and carefully poked out the other side with my camera.  There they were, eating away.  There were a dozen of them!  I'd never greeted wild turkeys from this close before.  I love the country.  Predictably they didn't like me, though.  All of them trotted off to keep a good distance away each time I advanced.  But they sure were pretty.  After I'd scared them enough for one day I ran back home and left them to their field.

Anyone for wild thanksgiving dinner?

It's been really hot here lately.  There was even a heat warning out a couple days, and we had to send our employees home mid-route.  Everyone in the town of Afton had to choose whether to roast their skin in humidity or cower in the dark by the air conditioner.  Most people chose the latter.  One such day was Monday.  It was a strange thing for Dan, Eddy and me to spend the whole day in the house together.  Last time that happened we had to break loose and go to the museum (and, as it turned out, the famous MICKEY'S DINER).  This time we went to the beach.

The evening was just starting to cool off when we headed to the nearby town of Lake St. Croix Beach.  This town sits just upstream our beloved Afton, but is much more popular on days like these, because this town has -- as the name implies -- a beach.  And that's about all they have.  There are signs posted on every street that read, "No parking on ANY city street".  And they have only one parking lot: the beach parking lot.  I love small towns.

We parked and walked the gravel road to the shore together.  Eddy's sandals kept falling off, making it a haltingly slow process...until we stuffed them in the diaper bag and held him off the ground by both arms.  Whatever works!  Ah, the sandy goodness!  Shoes were kicked off, the waves were flirted with, and Daniel dove in for a much needed cool down.  There were plenty of people there that day, which made me happy.  I love enjoying the weather with others.  It was quite like a local party, everyone invited, no charge.  Then I noticed something: Eddy wasn't swimming.  He wasn't splashing.  He wasn't even getting his feet wet.  The all too familiar "I don't wanna swim," was all he would say.  This would take some work.

I prodded him from the shore, Dan coaxed from the water, but he would not go in.  Why does he have this propensity to do what will only make him unhappy later?  Finally I bit the bullet.  Though still dressed in my tie-dye skirt and t-shirt, I picked up Eddy and stepped in the water.  "I'll just go up to the knees."  Right.  One thing led to another, and I was as wet as Eddy.  Finally, I couldn't resist the urge of going all in with hippie clothes on.  It just seemed to fit.  So, though I had my swimsuit on underneath, I dove in and swam all the way out, skirt and all =)  I got out, got all sandy and jumped back in.  Why don't more people do this?

Eddy did realize he liked the water.  He walked as far out as he could stand, he and I attacked Daddy with splashes, we even let him dunk a couple times.  It was a blast.

Eventually people began to disappear from the party, the sun went down, and a layer of mosquitoes graced the top of the ripples (haha, as if mosquitoes ever "grace").  We trudged through the sand and over the gravel to the car.  What a successful trip!  Laughter and pleasant talk filled the car all the way home and followed us in the house, just in time to open up the windows for the night.

...there were big green tomatoes weighing down the tomato plants...

...the peppers were just right...

We also apparently had a garden friend.  I found him a new home.

After the funeral there's a lot to think about, and my garden continues to be the thinking ground.  Most of my plants are happily getting bigger, but a new crop of weeds has blanketed the ground around them, and to those I have been attending.  Today I spent a long while picking out the tiny seedlings of purslain, grasses, trees, and, of course, Eddy's own little corn patch in between my herbs!

A week of hot and sunny makes one appreciate a cool cloudy day.  Plus the scattered showers throughout the day made everything outside wet and soggy.  I took advantage of this to do some house cleaning, remove the weeds and straw from the blackberries and go on a shopping spree with Eddy.  We got mower parts for Daddy, office supplies, and a whole new wardrobe from Goodwill for Eddy.  And, of course, we got to share Sam's Club pizza and an Arby's chocolate shake as a reward.

I love this time of year -- not as pretty as early spring, but so much more inviting.  For one, it's warmer outside than in.  This for the first time in 8 months!  It's also planting season here.  The greenhouses and weathermen have finally given the general public the OK to plant without danger of frost.  To me, that translates to dirt and shovels and rakes and watering cans and hoses and string and steaks and corn seeds and potato seeds and onion seeds and dirt mounds and trenches and weed pulling and transplanting and ROTOTILLING (which has the added benefit of seriously getting me in shape for summer).  It is quite hot and sunny for that kind of work, but a good sun hat, a water bottle, cool grass and occasional breaks make it doable and, of course, very satisfying.  I stand and gaze at my handiwork and take in the joy of hard work and thoroughness.  Can't wait to reap!

Outside of the garden are all the effects of others' hard work and God's natural gifts.  Flower beds, shrubbery, lilacs, towering Elms, fields of grass, wildflowers and fruit trees fill my senses with the life of late spring.  It is more exciting than I can say to discover every week new and fantastic plants and flowers in our Afton house.  Our landlords have good taste!  They also had experience gardening.  I have every tool at my fingertips =)  But I will never tire of being at the Hobbs' Eau Claire farm.  The aroma itself carries a thousand thousand memories and impressions of the past.  It has been said that music and smells are windows into the memory, and this is no exception.  Walking through the tall cleared woods along the driveway and smelling the warm polleny air with the cool breeze blown in from the neighbor's pond, I am transported to times and activities and friends and ages long gone.  Every old car comes into view, every paint ball game, volleyball game, sword fight, swim.  Visions of gardening, feeding ducks and chickens and cats and dogs, the old barn long since torn down, the willow that never really did perk up, the huge novel gardens, the creek, the outdoor shower, and of course, where the tent was set up...

And wherever I am, there seems a familiar smell of the season that to me seems to match the shiny mature leaves in the sunlight and the expiring blossoms.  Perhaps it's a plant or several plants home to this region.  But to me it's simply my own history.  My past, my present, my future.  The people I know and knew.  Experience gained and gaining.  Growth.  Have a great day in the sun!

This has been my thought for the weekend.  We sow and reap alike.

On Friday my little sister graduated from college.  I'm so proud of her!  But it got me thinking on my school situation.  Twenty-four years old and only 40 credits to my name.  Of course, thoughts like this lead to daydreams of diplomas and accomplishments, of research and travel and music and languages.  "If I could just work harder..." but is that really true?

Most things worth having do require hard work, but hard work doesn't get you everything you want.  You reap what you sow.  If I sow cantaloupe and carrots in my little seed patch for my garden (which I have), I will reap cantaloupe and carrots later on.  No matter how much I dream about watermelon, and strive to do a good job gardening so I can have a juicy slice of watermelon, it will never come out of cantaloupe and carrot seeds.  Those seeds are absolutely useless for that.  But they are incredibly useful for cantaloupe and carrots.

In the same way, no matter how well I raise my son, it will never get me a bachelor's degree.  It is useless for that.  To dream of academic accomplishments and work harder at home, will only lead to disappointment, for I'm looking for the fruit of something I never planted, and missing the fruit of what I did -- a grown son.  And no matter how much I study for a test, it could never get me a family.  My sister traded an early marriage for an early degree.  A choice I very much respect in her, but still, she is not married.  Loving and training children reaps loving and trained adults.  Studying and taking classes reaps knowledge and degrees.

How something is sown also determines how something is reaped.  Planting cantaloupe and carrots in mediocre soil, and haphazardly watering them (which I have) produces a few bedraggled plants (which I have).  But devoting time and money to the meticulous care of your garden produces bumper crops (which I've experienced in the past), crowding each other out like a chia pet.  Likewise, if I daydream of books and music all day and spend no time with my son, I will only reap an unhealthy son with a bad attitude.  I need to consider the harvest.  You only reap what you sow, and you only reap as well as you sow.

It is the same with food.  This is a subject I've always tried to avoid in the past, but it is true.  No matter how much you promote and talk about carrots, or how many you have in your refrigerator, if you are sitting here reading this next to a bag of marshmallows, you will never reap the benefits of carrots.  You will reap the sugar high and low, lack of energy, depression, and eventual chronic disease from malnutrition that marshmallows reap...not to mention unwanted weight.  However, if you just stop eating those right now and use your hands to pick up a carrot, put it in your mouth, chew, and swallow, you will receive the nourishment carrots offer.

This weekend my sister graduated, a friend just found out she's having her first child, another friend just had an adorable baby boy, I sang at church, watched Eddy, and ate a lot of junk food because of busy schedule, moods, and the holiday.  This morning I reaped more musical experience, a son who survived, and extreme weariness and downcast eyes.  I decided pretending isn't worth it.  Consider the harvest you desire, and actually plant and tend to the seeds that will bring that harvest.  Don't daydream of some other harvest.  Accept or make the one you want.  Eating candy to make you feel better won't.  Eating vegetables will.  Just do it.  If you want to finish school, pick up your textbook right now.  If you want a happy child, get up and walk to the park with him right now.  You will reap what you sow,  and only as well as you sow it.

Who of you are freaked out, grossed out, or scared to death of spiders?  I have always been!  But somehow a change came over me a couple days ago, when I spotted a little, fairly short-legged spider struggling to crawl out of our bathroom sink.  It was small enough that I couldn't focus on the detail too well (probably to my benefit, for if I had, I probably would have freaked out), but I was fascinated by the unassuming shape and innumerable tiny black and brown stripes on his legs (crosswise).  I asked Charlie, our employee and resident PhD to look at it, but his aging eyes failed him and he had no information to offer, so I delved into my copy of the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Insects & Spiders, but with no exact matches with the photos.  Charlie encouraged me by saying it could be a young spider, and may look differently than those fully grown.  I read a few descriptions and surmised it could be a close relative to a burrowing wolf spider, but they prefer sandy areas, and our property has rich soil.  All that was left to do was quickly sketch it and record the circumstance in my notebook, in hopes I ran across more information soon.

Across more info I certainly came!  Today I was tasked to pull weeds out of the blackberry beds in the large greenhouse on our property.  Between the rows are walking paths of wood chips, and covering the beds themselves right now is straw, to keep the plants from thawing too early in spring.  I didn't start weeding until close to dusk, but as soon as I started walking on the chips and pulling out weeds, little black-brown spiders scurried away from me in all directions!  There were so many, but too fast to get a look at!  I ran back and grabbed my camera to try to get a shot in the failing light of evening.  In addition to pictures, I studied the little guys (and girls).  I noticed all sorts of things about them.  I saw a great number of them, which made me familiar with their similarities and slight differences in young vs. old and male vs. female.  I found no webs, no spiders climbing, but always scurrying away to hide in the ground.  In one area I found a small white sac under some straw, broken open, with a few tiny eggs left inside.  As it got dark, I became discouraged by my camera's abilities.  Then I turned over an old dry leaf and on the underside found the biggest, most ornately designed spider of the breed who had just secured prey!  Now I had tons of information to crosscheck with the spiders in my field guide.

I came back in and went to work.  I started with the burrowing wolf spider, but, once again, no sand.  Plus, after seeing so many of the spiders, I clearly saw the difference in appearance.  So I scanned the other similar spiders...maybe another wolf spider or garden spider...oh! That's it!  Lycosa gulosa -- the Forest Wolf Spider!  The picture matched the shape and size perfectly, and after seeing different varieties, I saw the color resemblence, too. And check out the specs:

Size: 3/8-1/5"
Color: "Dark brown with grayish-yellow middorsal stripe on cephalothorax and narrow grayish-yellow strip on each side."
Habitat: "Woods, among litter"
Range: "Maine to Georgia, west to Utah, north to southern Manitoba.
Food: small insects"
Life Cycle: "Female drags eggs in a spherical sac until they hatch..."

"This spider hides among litter by day, hunts at night.  It makes no nest or silken shelter, although it secures a dragline before leaping upon potential prey. The light of a flashlight is reflected from its silvery eyes, making this wolf spider easy to find at night."

How perfect of a match is that?!  No webs, spherical sac, lives under loose ground coverings, the grayish yellow stripe, even the shiny eyes matched my pictures!  How thankful I was after reading that, that I got to see these guys at night.  What was my consternation became my pride, for it proved the shiny eyes and I got to see one hunt.  Below are my pictures (for those of you who are not arachnaphobic).

I am a nature person.  Strike that. I am a garden and greenhouse girl.  I love love love working in the dirt and sun, smelling plants, hearing birds, and creating and pampering something into paradise.  I'm AWFUL at houseplants.  But give me a flowerbed and a hose, and I'm in heaven.  Perhaps I will have my very own garden oasis some day, but for now I'll be happy with maintaining and hopefully transforming my landlady's already nicely prepared space.  Let's see if I can raise her home value just a tiny bit by October (and get loads of flowers and veggies out of it for myself).

Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed...Okay, let's just say it.  I was depressed.  Overnight my life seemed to be crashing down on me, I was emotionally useless and couldn't snap out of it.  Thanks to my caring (albeit sick and out of it) husband, it occurred to me to fiddle in the garden.  "It's a large property.  There's bound to be something more to do.  Just look around."  I did and there was.  As when I was a teenager and went to work at a local greenhouse WHEN I was sick, TO feel better, so I felt today.

I gardened through Eddy's nap, and slowly, quietly, as I worked, I breathed.  I thought calmly. I worked.  I pulled every single microscopic weed there was in that bed. My heartbeat slowed.  I came back in for Eddy and he joined me.  Even in the stress of motherhood during a difficult day for Eddy too, I was rejuvenated. I had fun!  We had fun.  We even took a break to sit by a tree and watch our neighbor drive a tractor around and feed cows.  Eddy appreciated that.

Give me more garden days this summer, and I will be happier.