Yet every morning, I can’t wait to walk outside and see what I’m to discover. As if I’ve planted magic beans and I’m waiting for a fantastic beanstalk to arrive. Instead, I’m problem solving ways to get this garden to get back to producing. 

I know the garden doesn’t owe me anything. But it feels like I owe it one more opportunity to try.

Why do we feel like something is broken simply because it’s not producing or performing the way we thought it would?

Somewhere between replacing a fence, hauling out dead branches and planting a garden, I realized it’s not just about landscaping at all. It was about healing. About creating a space to grow again after seasons of loss, change, disappointment and uncertainty. A place where getting your hands dirty is somehow cleansing for your soul.

Gardens have a way of revealing the things we’ve buried. And sometimes if we did deep enough, we’ll find ourselves again.

Our children are those swallowtail caterpillars. Hungry, growing, consuming resources and sometimes emitting strong odors. But if we remain patient, present and available to nurture and guide them, something remarkable happens. Little by little they transform into this amazing person ready to spread their wings and take flight.

With the click of the scissors, I clip the stem and head back into the kitchen to remove the leaves and give them a light wash. Stacking the leaves and holding them steady, I chop them into tiny pieces. With the perfect mix of lemon juice, olive oil, red pepper flakes and garlic, I add this freshly chopped basil to create a marinade. Allow the chicken to rest in it for about an hour, before oven roasting it.