There is nothing more exciting than an empty plot of rich soil waiting to be planted. Especially as the season changes, and there is a shift in the air, a shift in the planets, that allows the sun to cast a deeper shadow—longer, richer—and the mountains near home shine open and full. It is the quiet I love here, quiet that can be painful, but that I long for none the less.
When will it be OK for me to have so much, and not feel embarrassed about it, like I'm not worthy; yet, others have more, and I am happy for them.
Some say that California has no seasons, but they are wrong. I see the changes as the trees go from brown to blooming, and the native shrubs try desperately to flourish, even without rain—they are trying to be green. And I, with my seed packets and the saved seeds from last year's garden, am out there again, turning the soil for another year, hopeful for the garden that could come.
That hope is endless.
How could I not have a garden to tend, not have the Spring to be hopeful for? Summer will come, and with it the terrible heat and burning sun. But now, it is Spring, and preparations are important at home.