This “de-railed” version of pesto topped just about any other I’d eaten. Sometimes the greatest gift is lack.

Watching the antics of my habit-mind, I caught a glimpse of how important it is to realign my sensibilities with nature.

As I make more time to rest, my attitude brightens. The responsibility of harvest grows more fun as well.

In social situations, we are often uncertain of our roles and can feel afraid of how folks will respond to us.

Every year when our Marionberries ripen, my heart grows tender, reminding me that this bush roots into my family history. Picking berries, I find my grandmother right there beside me.

I scrubbed for almost four and a half hours straight, finishing up by headlamp. In 2019, I’d laid in bed and wondered if I’d ever be able to pick up a glass of water without excruciating pain. Astounding.

When the day’s work was done, we’d all go down to the river, and there, “weedy” St. John’s Wort would wave a golden hello.

Priming is the act of intentionally imagining what is going to happen and feeling the way you’d like to feel about it, sometimes even imagining all the joyful possibilities that could occur. The twin sister of priming, by default, is worry.

We notice things for the first time when we discover their value.

If our lives can flash before our eyes at the point of death, so did I see, with horror, a vision of myself preparing and assembling the mix entirely that night.

We have learned and grown together in our forest garden. Over the years, children have hidden beneath the Goumi’s canopy and have plucked its berries in June.

Celebrations at the shift in recession of lightness or dark can bring our attention to all that Mother Earth is and offers. It is an opportunity to notice how we, in parallel, experience darkness and light within our own natural rhythms of growth and creativity.

Soft, cool water invited my cares to flow away, invited me to let go and enjoy the moment. Water is sacred, and water is love.

His home is clearly everywhere, his touch and his vision stretch from sunny cabins and older growth plantings to the infant rows of seedlings.

What could be has arrived. Not exactly what I expected, but that’s another story. For now, I am celebrating with you the beauty of this.

For someone who has for decades gasped at the slightest mishap, this easy-going response blew my mind. It seems I am truly rewiring my nervous system.

I love how the garden offers its gifts in waves. I receive and give back in like rhythm. We adjust to one another, we grow together.

When I attended Amy Porterfield’s online business training with over 4,000 people, I had no idea that I would meet the accountability buddy of my dreams.

Lovage — it’s bright green, out, and proud. It’s also in my every salad this spring.

A delicious and beautiful seasonal harvest dinner inspired hang-up-ready original art that passed undercover through the U.S. postal system. What a gift. We are born to play with one another.