ramblings from an arkansas farm girl
Three little words arranged into one short question opens up a world of memory for me. Why I garden? As I think about my love for digging in the soil, I realize even dream-like and fleeting experiences have become deeply imprinted on my mind. People, places, aromas, songs, the way our family lived as part of the land—if I dissect my memories, these glimpses of my life add up to a love of nature and gardening.
Dear Sunday Letter friends,
Do you ever have one of those weeks when you feel like you accomplished very little? When you felt out of sync with everything? That’s how last week was for me. I have nothing to whine about, not by a long shot, but let this serve as a reminder that some days (weeks) aren’t filled with rosebuds and optimism no matter what our Instagram feed would have us believe. Some days are quite the opposite.
And that’s okay.Continue Reading
He loves me,
He loves me not.
He loves me,
He loves me not.
He loves me…
When I was a young girl, my friends and I often plucked the petals of daisy-like flowers, hoping the final petal coincided with he loves me.
But… what if the last petal announced the wrong outcome? We plucked another flower and started over, of course.
It’s funny to think back on it. Especially since as fifth graders flitting and skipping around during recess, we had no idea who “he” was. Certainly he couldn’t be one of the boys in class. Gross. #cooties
He loves me, he loves me not…
