a high of 50.

I made plant markers today. I will direct seed some lettuce, spinach, arugula, radishes, etc., tomorrow. I will watch the little plot of land with great trepidation some days and I will probably forget about it other days. At some point I will harvest leaves and roots and make a salad. Probably topped with hard boiled eggs, because eggs have to go with every meal.

I will probably stop and think about the day I stared at the legs of my kitchen table and realized that I either had to try to get better or accept that I was slowly committing suicide. I will probably think about the years I spent battling an eating disorder and how now I don’t have any eating rituals. I will think about the phone call where I begged my parents to let me leave college and move to the farm, and how it would still be another few years before I finished undergrad.

I will think about that time of my life with the separation that only time and growth can give. I will think about how the farm and a dog named Lucy saved my life. I will think about the moment I stood in my driveway after a ran to look at how beautiful everything was and realized that I was happy for the first time in years.

I will probably think about how today, when I didn’t want to do anything, I went outside and sprinkled bee feed mix in the soil and hoped it would sprout and the bees would come. I will think about how I sat on the ground with Fritz and Watson and laughed as they each tried to push each other out of the way to sit on my lap. I will think about how in the years since I made the deal with myself – the simple deal to try every day and not dwell on the days I failed – I have built a life that I love.


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