I'm so excited about our community garden tour we're having next month. I went last year, and absolutely loved the opportunity to visit some beautiful garden spaces of our local gardeners.
This year, I'm going to finish off the tour by opening my garden up to those in my church. Some are into that type of thing - others aren't. Either way, I'm excited about offering refreshments on the patio at the end of a warm spring day and sharing the fruits of my labors.
Of course, none of my visitors will ever know how my garden has evolved over the years. It started out as a dirt patch interrupted by a fruitless apricot that inhibited my planting space but offered wonderful shade where the kids and I enjoyed many an afternoon snack. They won't see the footprints of my children when they'd pounce around my garden in their bare feet and toting little watering cans. The greenhouse is gone now too, as is the little topiary tree I started from a cutting; the one that housed the little finch nest and provided shelter until each little bird was strong enough to fly away.
The memories held in my garden are dear to me. The hours I've spent on my knees digging, planting, creating and listening to my thoughts, the birds, the water and the gentle breezes have emotionally tied me to my little sanctuary. So much of me and the past 15 years is in there lying quietly just beyond the garden gate. It's the place where I recharge my batteries. It's where I go when I'm frustrated. When I'm happy. When I need a place to cry. When I want a few moments of peace.
It's a small, quiet little space that would never even begin to compare with the gardens on our community tour. But to me, it's the most spectacular one of all.