I would love to be able to tell you that I have neglected posting here because I was busily improving the garden beds on our property.
I'd love even more to say I'd been swamped canning a surplus of tomatoes, or redesigning the blog.
But those are fantasies at best and more plainly put, outright falsehood.
What has kept me away has been a stupid accidental injury, reducing my extremity count to only one fully functional foot with the resulting lack of bipedal ability.
I am currently hobbling, when I am mobile at all, with a set of
Until that time comes I stare out our windows with glasses off, determined to blur the view of green so I will see it all as green I wanted, green I planned for, purposefully planted, rather than the jungle of weeds intermingled with overgrown desireables.
I am currently working not to fret about ant hills or other insect infestations I can no longer witness firsthand, or the lack of tomatoes on plants I cannot clearly discern from indoors.
What I am working to do is take full advantage of various personal insights revealed during this enforced slowdown. Some of these insights naturally contain lessons. Many of them I do not welcome, with bottom lines that are anything but uniformly attractive or affirming. Such as they are, let it never be said I willingly shirked when there was work to do.
So here I sit, with my Catastrophic Cankle elevated, working. Working on seeing. Working on healing.
Healing my ankle, healing my frayed temperament, seeing a kind of health and wholeness that has less and less to do with my original singular focus on being able to get up and walk around under my own steam.
From time to time I am writing more about it all here. If you are willing, feel free to drop in and visit with a non-gardening version of me. I won't blame you if you aren't, believe me when I say nobody will be merrier than me when this blog requalifies for Garden status. But until then, and for as long as it takes, you are most welcome to share some growth of a slightly different sort with me at Austin Agrodolce.