Yesterday our year long journey ended back where it started. But things are very different.
We left our home and came back to what was worse than we had expected. On the surface dead and dying plants even dry sad weeds gasped at us when we pulled into our once familiar driveway. Weeds tower over many of the other plants, mulleins and prickly lettuces, grasses, and others. The lawn is sparse like thinning hair. And the beautiful Ash out front confused and dying throws out leafless arms.

In the back the once well-traveled paths have been taken over by the crispy leaves and spider webs. The once moist grass under my feet is now dry and yellow, dispersed with feces from dogs who’ve made my flower beds into their beds and pissing spots.

But I also see miracles. The fish still scuttle across the water of the pond now covered by plastic to keep the dogs out.

One of the bee hives has survived, it’s bees going about their days as if the yard remains the same.

Mullen has made itself at home and my nettle and raspberries have survived despite being buried in other plants. The trees back here are healthy and other plants are alive.

They may not have thrived but they are still here. My currants and grapes and columbines … they are still making it. Even the chickens greet me, now renamed but alive, and well, and curious.

I walk up into the greenhouse, now a plant burial ground. Pots of brown leaves and stems grow spider webs instead of greenery. The heat pours out like hot water from a broken fish tank. I rush to open the windows and doors to cool it all. And I enter the house.

The “shoe string” slobber of a 150lb dirty mop comes to greet me with a bark, shaking hus head and depositing 2 large globules of goo on the wall and floor.

The hair and dirt and slobber have made the floors and corners their homes. The table is sticky with crumbs and a smell rises from downstairs. I rush to light incense. The old art that used to adorn the walls is replaced with cobwebbed corners and blankness. My 6ft cactus is only a stump of its former self and my aloe once strong and proud sits drooping and thin in the bay window.
The walls need paint. The floor needs a sand and polish.
This is what hit us yesterday after a year away.
So I’m here to tell you that sacrifices must be made to live the life you want to live. This was our sacrifice. But it is also our new opportunity, an opportunity to recreate. It is overwhelming. I haven’t cried. But there’s so much to do its almost debilitating after all that, “What-should-we-doing” of the past year.

Our Projects to come:

A One Week Detox
A Garden Makeover
A New Bed
And
Cleaning Out the Garage