Two funerals, a cotillion formal dance, and a weekend in the garden: it's been a rare week. I've been present at the closing of life and labored over seeds of change for our family. All in all, the emotional slope has soared high and low, culminating in a deep sense of rightness.
The tween and I built the square foot garden box on Saturday. We worked well together, her interest never waning as we drilled pilot holes, attached the frame, and mixed the "magic" ingredients: compost I've nurtured all winter, peat moss, and vermiculite.
Saturday evening we prepared dinner together: molasses and soy-sauce marinated chicken thighs, homemade potato salad, and baked beans. Dessert was s'mores with marshmallows roasted over our front yard fire pit. It was a luscious day: hard, physical work, a sense of accomplishment, and soul-filling food shared by the four of us under the darkening sky as birds "brit-brit-britted" above and stars peeked through the still-unleafed trees.
Knitting took a backseat to gardening, though I did make time for it Sunday evening while the teen and tween were wrapping bandages for African hospitals with their youth group. I had to frog the shoulders of the Piedmont Park Hoodie (horribly written directions by the designer that I will have to decode and rewrite so I can finish it). I also worked a few more rows of the latest prayer shawl, in my favorite St. Luke's blues.
Next weekend, we'll plant our spring vegetables: peas, romaine lettuce, red onions, red cabbage, and a few herbs.
I'm thankful for the splendid weekend and feel refreshed for the frenetic to-do's of the week ahead.