This is my amazing family...From L to R, "Granddad", Ellen, Dan and Nathan. This was on Easter Sunday and I thought it was a great pic of all of them. 

Bridge over stagnant water, 2

This weekend, the focus continued to be on the pond. Dan and I have decided that our date nights are really excuses for us to work until dusk in the garden. It's an interesting thing to be a part of, like we read each other's minds and we work outside, doing the dance of spring where we clean out ponds, start new beds, clean out old. It's these rhythms, both unspoken and unrehearsed that bind me to a place and a time.

And to people. My kids and Dan.

The ponds are now leveled, filled with water, clean and ready for me to start the tilling of the soil around the bed. I don't know how much actual planting I'll do until fall. I have found that the garden books are right, take the time to amend the soil and the results will be exceptional.

Patient is a virtue, it's true, but it's not a lot of fun. I find myself sitting at the table indoors, peering outside, visually placing the plants in their spots. It's mezmerizing. I am aching to see the color. To see it finished.

And that is just the point. Gardening is not about quick fixes, giant leaps and monumental shifts. I find that tending the garden is daily, mindfully, slowly. And that constant attention, that almost meditative stance with the rhythms of the seasons are what bring a satisfaction that I have never known until I began gardening.

Today, I raked leaves from under the roses that are beginning to bloom. Wild Spice has already made her first appearance along with a few other rugosa roses. The day lillies are greening up and already the blue salvia is brilliant and blue. The weave of the plants came from the last four years of mindfully tending the spots, of walking daily through the space and wondering and thinking and dreaming.

It is this common task of mindfully walking, pausing to stare at a patch of bermuda and wonder, "What can that be?" that begins the process that may take years to manifest.

The next few weeks will be what I call the "non-sexy" stuff: tilling, amending, digging, sweating. It's the hard work -- the foundational work -- that no garden can exist without. It is not a process that can be rushed. There is a loose plan and I yet I know it will shift and change as I ponder the plants and the overall design that is taking place.

I cannot help but draw parallels from this process. The similarity of a life well lived that is thoughtfully, artfully tended. A life where changes are made simply: "Today I will start here" and "Tomorrow I can do this ir that. "

It sounds simple and yet I find it takes an uncommon focus and patience, neither of which I'm much good at.