I just deleted an entire post on gardening. It seemed boring and I’m not sure anyone else is interested in the topic. So if you actually read my posts on gardening, let me know.

Is anyone blogging any more?

Flowers make me happy. I know several gals who’d rather receive a potted plant or a foot massage or have the trash taken out rather than get flowers from their spouses. I am not that girl. I think this is why I love spring so much. I love the bursts of color coming from my yard right now and slowly Livia is learning to adore them, too. This morning she kept yelling for me to come outside to see something. When I turned the corner I admired her discovery: the first little rose blooming on our David City rosebush. (We have a small rosebush from Jeremy’s grandparents’ home in David City, Nebraska. It’s extra special to me.)

Most plants in our yard come from unglamorous origins. The peony pictured above came from Sam’s Club many years ago. Most bulbs died, but two survived and continue to make me happy year after year. Other blooms have come from garden store shopping trips over the past ten springs. There’s the clematis from Earl May, the pincushion flower from a neighborhood greenhouse, the gorgeous blue Columbines that Jeremy picked out from a location I can’t recall. The gardens are a constant work-in-progress. Some plants naturally die out after a few years; others are victims of rabbits or over-eager weed spraying. Some are divided and transplanted in better locations where they thrive with more or less sunshine.

I cringe to think of moving and leaving our beloved yard behind. I want to dig up each plant and take it with us. But Jeremy has a more positive take on the move. He reminds me that we can start again—and, I daresay, we’ll be smarter about it this time around. We’ll use the last ten years of knowledge to start something new. Like an artist with a blank canvas, we’ll see endless possibilities in a new space. And hopefully the new Prairie Box homeowners, whoever they are, will enjoy the peonies when they come up, fresh and lovely, next spring.

**Update on moving. No, we haven’t sold the house. No, it’s not on the market yet. We’ve got a few more renovations to make before listing it. But if you or someone you know would like a lovely 1915 home with three bedrooms, let me know!

Livia likes to bring me something she calls “love gifts.” She’ll scour the yard—or any place we’re going on a walk—to find something beautiful to bring me. What can I say? The kid speaks my love language!

We have very few tulips in the yard, so I was a bit surprised when Livia walked through the door with a tulip in hand. I didn’t want her picking them as I was hoping they’d brighten up our rainy spring garden. But as it turns out, that one tulip did more for my spirit indoors. It was so lovely. And, as the sun came out, it opened wide each day, receiving all the rays with open petals.

Liv has the right idea, in so many ways. Showing love freely, enjoying beauty when she sees it, bringing joyful bits of the outdoors inside to cherish. I’m glad for her six-year-old eyes.

I’ve grown to love our sedum plants. Their leaves are rubbery and they seem more fit for the desert than Nebraska. But they are hardy. And green. And so eager to grow towards the sun early in the spring. I love ’em.

I am made for sunshine, green grass and little jewels like miniature daffodils and sprouting red buds. The cold, dying cycle of winter is behind us for another year and the reward of warm seasons stretches before us. The trees here in Lincoln are still bony statues, but I can take it in with hope and excitement because soon their arms will be covered in green. Everything rejoices at new life. It’s the season of resurrection—which we’ll celebrate wholeheartedly in a few weeks on Easter Sunday. Christ the Lord is risen today, alleluia! Even more than being made for spring, I am made to worship and live in the joy of the resurrected Son of God. Easter, like spring, is worth waiting for.

**Photo disclaimer: These tomatoes are in my dad’s garden, not mine!

It’s getting to that time of year where I have to force myself to work in the garden. It’s mid-July, which, in Nebraska means it’s pretty hot and ridiculously humid outdoors. The mosquitoes find me irresistible while the weeds find my garden patch irresistible. Plus, the vegetable garden, by this point in the season, is doing well and doesn’t seem to need as much TLC anymore. It’s easy to throw up my hands and surrender to the elements by staying indoors with the AC cranked up. However, I need to resist that desire because my garden is growing like crazy and someone, moi, needs to keep up with it.

This year I planted kale, mixed lettuces, white onions, bush beans, cherry tomatoes, slicing tomatoes, zinnias and sunflowers. Oh yeah, and broccoli. Tender, sweet little shoots of broccoli, which made a delightful meal for some foul beast back in May. And yet, in an odd turn of events, a broccoli plant sprouted up among the beans and when I peeked at my garden tonight, there was a green head on the plant. Awesome.

We’re enjoying Year Two of our neighborhood garden. Again we were allowed a portion of the old Zion Church lot (now it belongs to our church, Redeemer) and again our awesome neighbors measured out plots, tilled the ground, and fenced off a bit of earth. It felt like a good old-fashioned moment of Americana when we gathered together for a BBQ outside the garden in June. Everyone was introduced, or re-introduced, food was shared, the young garden admired.

So tomorrow, I absolutely have to get into my little space and pull some weeds. Perhaps it’ll rain tonight and my task will become a bit simpler. The kale is growing like mad and I’ve promised bags of it to my mom and a friend. I am sure the beans are ready for picking and an empty vase awaits the zinnias. And maybe, if I’m lucky, a tomato will be ripe.

My heart has just started to thaw from the harsh and frozen memories of last winter. I’ll take the heat, the humidity, and even the darn mosquito bites if it means I get to enjoy summer for a little bit longer.

The personally-appointed gag order has been lifted.

And I really don’t know what to say.