Walking into the wild
This week I wandered into the garden with no real plan, just a vague sense that something needed doing. The kind of feeling that sits just under your skin, not urgent, just persistent. The dogs ran ahead like they knew exactly where they were going. The chickens watched me like I owed them something, they’re probably right. And I stood there for a moment, surrounded by the usual tangle of branches and leftover winter.
My garden is half forest. It doesn’t try to be neat. And to be honest, I’ve stopped trying to force it into something it’s not. Still, it was a mess. Leaves everywhere. Weeds doing what weeds do. Piles of sticks. Half a trampoline quietly sinking into the earth like it had given up on bouncing. But instead of being overwhelmed, I just stood there.
And for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel the urge to fix everything.
Clearing without pressure
I started slowly, clearing one patch of ground, pulling up what had overstayed its welcome. No pressure to make it beautiful. Just the small relief of creating a bit of space, breathing room.
And as I did, a quiet thought came in.
Maybe this is how it works.
Not just with gardens, but with the rest of life too. Maybe things get messy, again and again, because that’s what life does. And maybe we’re not meant to win the battle against it, but just to tend to what’s in front of us.
Some thoughts are like ivy, sneaky and fast. Others, like brambles, stubborn and sharp. And yet, with time and a bit of care, even the most tangled corners can open up again.
A season that doesn’t rush
There’s something comforting about how nature moves. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t ask for big answers. Spring doesn’t arrive with a loud announcement. It just happens quietly, a bit more light, a bit more green. The trees don’t panic about timing. The weeds don’t need permission.
And maybe I don’t either.
Maybe I don’t have to have a five-year plan or explain why I’ve been quiet lately. Maybe it’s enough to show up for the small things. The garden. The dogs. That one corner of the house I finally cleared without making a fuss about it. Maybe it’s all allowed to be gentle.
A small wondering
I’m not here with advice. Just this small thought, offered like a mug of tea left on the windowsill:
What if the mess isn’t a problem to solve?
What if it’s just part of the season you’re in?
And if that’s true, what’s one tiny part of your world, inside or out, that you’d like to gently clear space for again?
I don’t know all the answers. But I do know that today, the garden helped my head feel a little lighter. And for now, that’s enough.
Warm greetings from a slowly sorting her garden mom